Something True
by BelieveItOrNot
Summary: With too many secrets and a haunting past she'd love to forget, at seventeen, Bella is sure love doesn't exist. College dropout Edward Cullen can't seem to keep hold of love, or his music. A cottage, a lake, a tree, a muse, wrong choices, and heartache. How will these two cope with life and keep afloat? A daily word-prompt WitFit. Alternates between past and present. AH E/B
1. Staircase

Hi! I've decided to start a witfit. It will be a continuous story written with the use of daily prompts, usually posting in the evenings (Sunday is rest day).

This is really different for me as I usually don't start posting a story until it's mostly done. We'll see if I can pull it off.

These chapters will also be unbeta'd so I apologize in advance for that. Commas hate me, and I love them. This doesn't make for a very healthy relationship.

Capricorn75, this one's for you.

**Something True**

Word prompt: _Staircase_

Plot generator—Phrase catch: _Secrets and Lies_

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**Prologue**

**Secrets and Lies**

As a little girl, Bella understood secrets. Not the kind learned from others through whispers in ears as she promised not to tell a soul, but the kind that were somehow discovered, that became a true and unwanted part of her—shouts inside her heart that could never be let out. She knew how one secret could grow, stacking itself like a staircase in her mind. And she knew that the longer it went untold, the tighter it had to be locked up, and that if it was released, it would cause devastation and destruction.

Letting a secret like hers out could be like detonating a bomb

Nobody taught her these things. She just knew. Like knowing if you open your mouth to talk your voice will come out; like knowing if you move one foot in front of the other, you're walking.

Bella's mother used to take her many places. On their four block walk to the park, the smell of pine strong in the air, her mother taught her silly songs from her childhood that Bella had never heard before. She loved singing_ Mairzy Doats_ with her mother more than she liked playing at the park.

Her mother took her to The Freeze and bought her chocolate-dipped soft-serve ice cream cones, that if held up to her face, would stand taller than her head.

Her mother would put a dress on her, zip her up, tie the bow in the back, and tie a matching one in her dark hair. She told her how she would be the prettiest girl, and take her to playdates at other people's homes where Bella would rather sit and gossip with the chain-smoking ladies than play with her friends. Trying to be quiet and invisible, she listened to names: Mrs. Call, Mrs. Cope, Mr. Yorkie. And words: fired, bankruptcy, crazy. Boy, would she never want her name to roll off the tongues of women like them. It could only mean that something terrible had happened to her. The ladies and her mother had to shoo Bella from the kitchen every time.

"Go play with the girls," her mother said with a wave of her hand. "Eight going on eighteen," Bella heard as she left the kitchen. She wondered what that meant, if maybe she wasn't being a kid quite right. What was different about her?

In Jessica's playroom, at the small toy dining set, Bella taught her friends how to play like the ladies: pretend to smoke, pretend to drink coffee—always blowing across the top of the mug first before letting it meet lips—talk about this person or that person scandalized in town.

"Lydia's having an affair with the bankrupt, crazy milkman," Bella said, eyes and mouth wide open.

The other girls, with their pretend coffees in hand and their legs crossed the way Bella had shown them, asked her what an affair was. Bella wasn't sure, but it reminded her of the word "fair," so she said, "It's something fun." She could almost feel her eyes sparkle as the other girls' faces lit up.

When she was ten, her mother stopped taking her to those other places. After school, she'd take her to a client's house two towns away from Forks. She said she had a meeting and she wouldn't be long, but she'd be in the client's back room office long enough for Bella to finish her homework on the stranger's couch, and for three pieces of gum to go dry in her mouth. She walked out to the front yard, always making sure to stand in the same spot under the old oak tree, to see how far into the street she could spit each wad before replacing it with a new stick.

It was the client who gave her the pack of gum. With a smile that marked the corners of his eyes with deep lines, he told her how he'd created the advertisement for that gum that she sees on TV. She didn't feel like telling him she'd never seen his dumb commercial.

Her mother would come out of the office smelling strongly of her perfume. Sometimes she would drive them home grinning, humming along to the music. Other times she would be silent, tears would stream from her eyes and she'd catch them in her hand like she collected them.

Bella knew. Her mother never told her, but she knew. Those client meetings were secrets. And she could never, ever tell anyone, especially not her dad.

By the time she was eleven, her mother said that the meetings had paid off and she could now afford a babysitter. Bella was left with old Mrs. Cameron, who seemed to love her rocking chair and her knitting more than anything else. Bella didn't mind. She liked the rhythmic creaking of the chair, and she got to learn how to knit.

Still, the meetings hadn't stopped. She knew because when her mother picked her up from Mrs. Cameron's, she reeked of her perfume.

"Why do you wear that stuff?" Bella asked, plugging her nose after closing the car door, thinking that if she could get her mother to stop spraying herself with perfume, she could convince herself that the meetings had also stopped. More than that they happened, she hated _knowing_ that they happened.

Her dad made things worse with the way he would smile at her mother, kiss her hello on the lips.

Bella started wrapping a blanket around herself at home, not to keep warm, but as a simulated hug. It made her feel comforted and like she wasn't alone in her room with this secret that had somehow become bigger than her. Sometimes, in the blanket's embrace, she would rock back and forth on the carpet thinking of how secrets are bad things, and that every time she looked into her father's eyes and didn't let the secret out, she was lying to him.

She learned in time that she no longer had the secret, but that the secret had her, and the easiest way to wriggle away from it was to think of other things. Pretend it didn't exist. It was like what she'd learned in science class: mind over matter.

So blocking it out was what she did. Whenever she could.

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A/N: After the prologue this story will alternate between past and present.

Thank you for reading. See you tomorrow.


	2. Job

**A/N**: Pay careful attention to the chapter subtitles to understand the timeline.

This story alternates between past and present.

* * *

Word prompt:_ Job_

**Something True**

**Job**

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**_Last Winter_**

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"Your mother's taken up smoking again," Bella's dad said, all dressed in uniform and slipping his holster on in the living room.

Bent over the sofa, Bella shoved her binder in her backpack, slipped a pen into the smallest pocket, double checked for her calculator, and then brushed past her dad to the fridge for a bottle of water.

"Did you hear me?"

"I don't know what you want me to do about it." She shoved the water bottle into its slot at the side of her bag.

"You used to tear them up and scold her." He kind of laughed, but it was a strange laugh, something between a scoff, as though what he'd said was ridiculous, and hope, like he hoped Bella might break cigarettes in half again. But that was ten years ago, before she was even eight years old.

"Maybe she wants to die." Bella pulled her coat on and lifted her backpack over her shoulder.

"Why would you say something like that?"

Without answering she headed to the front door. It was stark white on this side, freshly painted. Her mother couldn't stand all the fingerprints and grime she couldn't seem to free it of no matter how hard she scrubbed. So, last weekend, she painted it.

"Need a lift?" her dad asked, catching up to her. She didn't turn.

"It's not raining." The truth was, it embarrassed her to be dropped off in front of school in his police cruiser. Still, had it been raining, or snowing, or extra windy, she would've taken him up on his offer. Better embarrassment by police car than by drenched or wind-wild hair, especially after all the time she'd spent curling the ends. Her hair was so stick straight that it was hard to get the curls to take, but with practice she'd learned how to make it look like she had smooth, natural waves. She hadn't worn it straight since then. It just looked too flat.

"Bella." He said her name twice, louder the second time. Bella faced him. He was leaning against the doorjamb, the side of his head resting against his knuckles as they curved around the edge of the wood. His fingers tapped twice. "Have a good day. Love you."

"Love you, too." She smiled at him, pulled her hood up, careful to tuck her hair in, and then headed toward school.

Instead of walking along the road, she took the shortcut through the woods between the road and the lake, icy pine needles crunching under her boots. The trees grew so massive here, and the sky was so overcast, that the sunlight didn't seem any more powerful than moonlight. On her left, through a break in the trees she could see the cottage near the lake's edge, all closed up. It belonged to Rosalie's family. She'd told Bella it was part of her family's inheritance. They lived in a big house at the other end of town and never used the cottage, but her dad didn't want to sell it. Her grandpa was a fisherman and lived in that cottage during the last years of his life. When Rosalie and Bella first became friends a year ago, they laughed about how weird it was that Bella knew Rosalie's grandpa before she knew Rosalie.

Bella's gaze followed the wind through the trees to the lake. She wished it was summer so, freezing water or not, she could go for a swim. Her parents had made her learn how to swim at a young age because they lived so close to water. Floating on her back was what she learned first, and she loved pretending that the water was her bed as she lay there squinting up at the sky. Nothing was bigger than the sky, and from there, she felt like she could see all of it. As she got strong at freestyle, they had her swim from the shore nearest their house to the small island about twenty five yards out. A floating rope led to the island because swimming to that island was popular in the summer. Bella's dad had bought her a wetsuit and she would swim out there practically every day.

She came out of the woods on West End Road, a few blocks from Forks High. Car after car, truck after truck, packed full, was pulling into the parking lot of the big Veteran's Hall. They were preparing for a winter fundraiser. Every season this town had some sort of fundraiser. Bella had no idea what this one was even for. Some men were on ladders stringing lights up along the edge of the roof.

"Little Lulu!"

Bella would recognize that nickname and that voice no matter how many years went by. Mrs. Cameron had thought Bella looked like this cartoon character she used to love as a girl, Little Lulu. Bella had found the DVD at the supermarket and bought it for her one Christmas. They'd watched all the episodes together as they knitted.

She ran over to the parked car with the hand sticking out of the window in a wave. Opening Mrs. Cameron's door for her, Bella helped her up, and let herself get wrapped tight in thick, heavy arms covered in a full winter coat. Bella could hardly reach around the woman's back. They swayed from side to side a few times.

"You're not a kid anymore, are you?"

"Nope." Bella left the embrace. "Need some help?" She was already lifting the trunk open.

"Oh, it's just a few afghans I knitted for this thing. And my-"

"Your rocking chair?" It shocked Bella how the thought of Mrs. Cameron getting rid of her rocking chair knocked the wind out of her. After letting her backpack fall to the ground, she hoisted the chair out and sat in it, rocking against the concrete, feeling almost betrayed, even bitter. She heard the sound of tiny pebbles getting crushed beneath her as she rocked.

"Jared got me a new one. It glides. No more squeaking."

"The squeaking is the best thing about it." She rubbed her hands along the arms of the chair as if she were petting it. This might be the last time she'd ever touch it. "Can't you put it in your bedroom?"

"Don't need it. Besides, darling, it's for charity." The way she said charity was grandmotherly. It was the voice she used to speak in whenever Mrs. Cameron was trying to cheer her up—when Bella fell and skinned her knee, or when she sometimes cried for no reason that she could explain, or even on the days when her mother would pick her up and Bella would beg Mrs. Cameron to let her stay the night.

Caught off guard by stinging eyes, she bent to pick up her backpack and to hide her face at the same time. She thought maybe she was still a little kid after all. Mrs. Cameron trailing her with her box of knitted creations, Bella carried the rocking chair into the hall. She would be late for first period at this rate, but that didn't matter to her. She set the chair down next to some table where people were taking inventory. Barely whispering a goodbye to Mrs. Cameron, Bella decided that on Saturday morning she would come here right when it opened to buy that chair.

...

At lunch, in the noisy cafeteria, Bella laughed to herself wondering what Mrs. Cameron would think of the conversation going on around her. The girls were discussing who was still a virgin and who wasn't. It seemed to Bella that she and Rose were the only two virgins left in the school. Rose said she was saving it. Bella didn't say anything. She wasn't saving hers. The opportunity simply had not arisen for her. And, as she looked around at all the non-virgins all over the cafeteria, she was beginning to wonder if it ever would. She couldn't see it happening with anyone at this school. She'd known practically everyone since kindergarten. They all seemed like kids to her.

"You two are insane," Alice said from across the table, little wisps of black hair sneaking out from under her baseball cap. "Saving it? For what? You think you're earning interest? You don't know what you're missing. I say make your withdrawals as early as you can."

"What about love?" Rosalie asked. She was pretty much the opposite of Alice—as tall and blond as Alice was short and dark, as soft-spoken and reserved as Alice was outspoken and blunt.

"You think you can't ever fall in love just because you have sex, old lady?"

Bella tore off a piece of her bread crust and threw it at Alice, who blocked it with her hand. "Hey! That's what I get for trying to save your life?"

"Now it's a matter of life and death?" Bella asked.

"Practically." Alice looked at Jessica and Lauren, and they all nodded together.

"And you're our savior?"

Alice tossed the piece of bread back at Bella. "It's my job. Saving people." By the expression on her face, eyebrows raised and hidden in her bangs, Bella could tell exactly what Alice was referring to.

When she was ten, while Bella was discovering her mother's infidelity, Alice was saving her mother from a car accident, pulling her out of the car before it went up in flames. For months after that, while she went through physical therapy, Mrs. Brandon had to get around in a wheelchair. She had this electric one that she used to ride around town while Alice held onto the back of it gliding along on her Razor scooter.

Even though Bella had thought it looked like a lot of fun, she had to force herself to smile when Alice greeted her as her mom dropped her off at school that way. There was a time when Bella could have played with her mother just like Alice and Mrs. Brandon played. But by then Bella knew nothing anywhere close to that would ever happen again.

"After school, I'm taking you to the Black Market and getting you condoms."

"Not me," Rosalie said.

"Come on. What are you afraid of?"

"You."

Alice smiled at her and gave her puppy-dog eyes. When that didn't work, she turned to Bella. "How about you?"

Bella said she'd go, but just in case she needed them, not because she had plans to make any _withdrawals_ anytime soon.

At the store, Alice picked out three different brands and handed them all to Bella. "You have to buy them."

Bella shook her head. "I'll give you the money, but I'm not buying them."

"You have to. It's like, a whole part of the process. Come on; woman up."

Bella glared at her friend. "I hate you."

She waited until there was nobody in line and then, after contemplating shoplifting, went up to the front to pay. She almost added a Snickers bar to the transaction as well, but thought about how much more embarrassing that would have been. She refused to make eye contact with the cashier, and she held Alice's arm as the condoms were wrung up, holding her breath as if she were underwater in the lake. She didn't breathe again until the condoms were hidden away in a brown bag.

Someone cleared his throat behind her. Bella spun around fast, horrified that it might have been her dad, but no, it was worse. Much worse than being caught buying condoms by her dad. It was Rosalie's brother. Rosalie's gorgeous, older brother with the green eyes and the rust-brown hair whom she hardly knew, and he had his arm around some brunette's shoulders.

It felt like the whole place had gone up a hundred degrees in under a second, like a fire had started, the flames singeing her face. Alice, beside her, was cracking up. And Edward Cullen was _smirking_.

"Some night ahead," he said, and even his voice, deep and gritty, and like it was climbing on top of her, wasn't enough to distract Bella from the raging fire around her. That was, until he bent close to her ear, his lips practically brushing against her skin and whispered, "Make him earn it."

The fire was gone. She shivered. Right there in front of his girlfriend and Alice, Edward had made her shiver.


	3. Image

**A/N**: Pay careful attention to the chapter subtitles to understand the timeline. :)

* * *

Word prompt: _Image_

Dialogue flex: _"How are you feeling this morning?"_

**Something True**

**Image**

* * *

**_This Summer_**

* * *

Once again Bella awakens in a world she doesn't want to live in. That's not to say she doesn't want to live; it's just this place, this small town that makes the hairs on her arms stand up and her bones shudder.

The first thing she does when she gets up in the morning is she takes out the blue stick of chalk from her bedside drawer and marks a line at the base of the wall. She is counting down her days until graduation, counting down her days to freedom.

_Soon I can become someone else._ She longs to be a stranger.

She remembers a younger time, before her mother worked, when her family had very little money. To decorate they had to get creative. Together, Bella and her mother dipped long scraps of silk in tea and tied them to each of Bella's bedposts. With beet juice, they tinted her linen lampshade to a purply-blue. They added big glass beads to her plain white comforter. "There," her mother said, hands on her hips, looking around. "Fit for a princess."

Bella still has the lampshade and the silk slinking down her bedposts, but the comforter her mother found that matches the hues of her lampshade is new. She remembers when her mother brought that comforter home, how she smiled at Bella when she gave it to her, how her mother likes to pretend that life is as beautiful as she sees it. Bella thinks her mother's attitude just makes everything uglier.

Every time she vacuums herself out of the living room so that perfect lines are left in the carpet, Bella wants to scream at her that no matter how perfect she makes things appear, the ugly facts are lingering like layers of dust on every surface—most of all on her mother, where every betrayal has latched on, making her smile grotesque.

After her shower, Bella combs her fingers through her hair and throws on jeans and a sweatshirt over a T-shirt. She doesn't look in the mirror.

In her room she sits in the old rocking chair while she pulls her sneakers on, ties them. She takes a second to sit back, close her eyes, an image of a younger but still elderly Mrs. Cameron coming to mind. "How are you feeling this morning, Little Lu?" she hears, and nearly scoffs. She feels no different than she does every morning.

Standing up, the chair rocks behind her, creaking, empty. She heads straight downstairs and out the front door without saying anything to anyone, without even seeing anyone.

School in August has never felt right to Bella, and senior year is no different. And while other towns are unbearably hot at this time of year, here there's a chill in the air and it's sprinkling as she walks to school.

She's used to this about Forks, a town where rain is much more a part of life than sun. Bella doesn't mind the rain. It's one thing she used to hate but now welcomes. She doesn't even pull up her hood. The rain tells the truth. Bella knows there are enough lies in the world. The weather may as well be honest.

When she comes to what used to be her forest-shortcut—her place—she tells herself that the water in her eyes is only rain. Her place is now nothing—charred, barren. She can't bring herself to walk through it so she takes another route, along the highway.

A car zooms past her as she steps into the crosswalk. Its wind nearly knocks her down.

"Don't stop or anything!" she wants to shout. But she doesn't. She doesn't see the point in saying anything that won't be heard. And this axiom goes beyond people who won't hear to include people who do hear but don't listen, which includes most people, so she remains silent as much as possible.

She wishes for anything to distract her from getting to school, another fundraiser, Mrs. Cameron, anything at all.

Yesterday, the first day of school, she'd caught Alice's eye in the hall. Lifting a hand to wave, it hadn't even reached alignment with her chest before Alice had turned away. Not a hint of a smile had met her lips, though a crease in her brow flashed before all Bella could see was the back of the girl's head.

Passing the empty parking lot of the Veterans' Hall, Bella recalls phone calls from Alice, recalls clicking ignore, deleting messages without listening to them. It wasn't only Alice's calls she'd ignored, it was all of theirs. And Jessica and Lauren both seemed to be giving Bella the cold shoulder as well. It occurs to Bella that Rosalie is now her only friend.

She finds the blond girl digging through her locker and hugs her. "I appreciate you," Bella says, her voice strangled, barely coming out. It's the first thing she's said today, maybe even in two days. She feels like she needs a drink of water.

Rose's arms reach around Bella, her hands pressing against her back. "Is it the rumors?" She pulls away. "Nobody believes them. Not about you, Bella. They're pretending it's true. They want something to happen around here, drama, humiliation, anything. It isn't you."

This time when Bella's eyes tear up, she can't blame the rain.

"Come with me to the cottage tonight? My brother won't care. Just... get out?"

"Will anyone else be there? Alice and them?"

"I've only invited you." Rose takes hold of the strap of Bella's backpack and gives it a tug.

Bella nods, wiping her eyes before the tears have a chance to leak out. And then holding her throat as it feels like it's closing up, she nods again.

"And you know what? Just ignore them. Everybody is going through their own thing. _Everyone_."

Just as she says this, Royce King stops behind Rose, his face set like stone in a near-scowl. Bella's expression must change because Rose asks, "What?"

"Royce is behind you," she whispers.

"Okay, I have to go with him, but I'll see you later, right?" When Bella doesn't answer, Rose shakes her arm and repeats, "Right?"

"Right."

…

Bella doesn't leave for the cottage until ten, after dinner, after homework, after her dad's left for his shift. Bella's mother attempts to stop her. "Where do you think you're going this late on a school night?"

"Wherever I want," Bella says. Without her dad around, she has no problem picking a fight with her mother.

"Not if I say you don't."

"You won't stop me."

"The hell I won't." Her mother blocks the door.

Bella stands there, head tilted. "You'll let me out if you don't want Dad to know who you really are." She doesn't mean it. She doesn't say it for any reason but to upset her mother. One of the last things Bella would want is for her dad to know who she herself really is, let alone who her mother is.

Her mother's face falls. "Just-" she steps aside, letting her daughter pass "-be careful and... don't let your grades slip."

Bella thinks that if her mother really means that, it would be better if she didn't say it because on instinct Bella wants to do the opposite of anything her mother tells her to do.

In the dark she walks through the beating wind, following the path of deadness she avoided earlier, to the lake shore, to the cottage. It's about a ten minute walk from her house. There's no moon tonight. She can't see the cottage from where she is, but she knows its location by the lamp post in front of the dock. The closer she gets, the cottage begins to take shape.

Rosalie's already there. Bella spots her car in the gravel driveway. Indoor lights glow through the windows, through the sheer curtains. She knocks and Edward answers. His hair is wild, his eyes are puffy and red. He doesn't say a thing as he backs up, opening the door wider, inviting her in without really inviting her. She steps past him. His place is warm, relief from the wind.

Despite the warmth, she keeps her jacket on. He doesn't offer to take it off, doesn't put his hands on the back of her shoulders and insist.

Rosalie comes into the living room from the kitchen. "My brother bought us beer."

Edward pops the top off with a bottle opener and places the cold, wet bottle in Bella's hand. She grips it by the neck and looks around.

Big boxes clutter the floor. Across the room from her is a wide sliding glass door with a view of the lake. She can't see it now, not when it's so dark outside, and with the lights on in the cottage.

The walls—cluttered with fishing and hunting memorabilia—are painted a medium, dull blue. Edward busies himself taking things off walls: mounted fishing poles, a big fish on a plaque above the aged brick fireplace, old fishing hats and coats on a wall-rack.

Edward is so busy that Bella isn't sure if she should offer to help or not.

"He's making the place his own," Rosalie says, and then raising her voice she adds, "No matter what our parents say about it!"

"They can go to Hell," he says, ripping a rifle down.

"Are you sure he doesn't care that I'm here?" Bella whispers.

"I'm sure." Rose hits the tip of Bella's bottle with her own. "Besides, I don't want him to be alone right now if I can help it."

"Why not?"

"Don't open your mouth, Rosalie," Edward says.

She does open her mouth, but before she can say anything, _Bittersweet Symphony _starts playing. This means Royce is calling. Rose slips her phone out of her back pocket and shakes it in her hand. "I have to answer this." She steps out of the living room and into one of the bedrooms.

That's at least the second time in one day that Rose has said she _has to_ do something in reference to Royce. Bella wants to call out to Rose that she doesn't _have _to do anything.

Instead she stands still in her spot at the entrance to the cottage, looking at the back of Edward. She knows he's been living here all summer, though she hasn't seen much of him. The last time she saw him he didn't look like this. He was smiling, talking, animated. And by the looks of things, him redecorating or whatever he's doing, it doesn't appear that he's going back to college this year.

She glances at the door Rose closed behind her. Standing on the sofa, Edward is removing a frame off the wall that seems to be stuck. When he gets it off, it takes some of the wall-paint with it.

Just to do something other than stand there, she sets her beer down on the rustic, dinged-up coffee table and grabs a frame of fishing lures that are held in place by push-pins. She plucks it from the wall and puts it in one of the many boxes that litter the room.

"All of it goes?" she asks.

"Everything from the walls."

She takes another frame down, one of old army memorabilia, some other country's coins in the corner. She doesn't look close enough to figure out where they're from.

The silence filling the room makes her head spin. She wishes Rose would come back or that Edward would say something. Neither happens. Like robots, Edward and Bella keep clearing the walls and filling boxes in a quiet that vibrates from the earth's core into the cottage. It rattles her body.


	4. Discipline

Hi everyone! I want to thank you for reading, the rec's, and the reviews. Writing daily leaves me without much time to reply to reviews, but I do appreciate them and read them, so thank you for taking that time. Some days are freer than others, so I'll get to reply to you every once in a while. :)

Although, I will do my best to answer any questions. If you ask a question, make sure you're signed in and that you have your PM option turned on, otherwise I can't reply, and unless I get an overwhelming amount of questions on the same thing, I won't be answering questions in chapter A/N's.

Word prompt:_ Discipline_

Plot generator—Idea completion: _A picture is worth a thousand words_

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**Something True**

**Discipline**

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_**Last Winter**_

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After running a hand through his sandy hair, longer and scragglier than most teachers', Mr. Biers pulled an enlarged, mounted photograph out from behind his desk, set it on the wooden easel at the front of the class, and scratched his furry jaw as he paused to look at the image of the Mona Lisa.

Every day, the last fifteen minutes of English Comp was dedicated to on-the-spot writing about a topic of his, Mr. Biers', choice. Today the class was to write about what made Mona Lisa smile.

Bella tapped her pen against her blank paper, she chewed on the cap for a while, and when no ideas came to her, save the scenario that the model's favorite pizza was delivered, Bella walked up to the front of the class to get a closer look at the picture. She studied the eyes, their somewhat sad stare, the lips only slightly turned up, the cheeks not very rounded.

Back at her desk, she wrote that the model wasn't smiling, that da Vinci added the smile in, composed it, shaped it. She wrote that the real question wasn't what made Mona Lisa smile, but rather why she wasn't smiling, why the smile had to be created by the artist. Or maybe the question was why da Vinci was compelled to add a smile where there was none.

Bella didn't answer any of the questions she posed, she just continued to add question after question. Did da Vinci believe that all women should smile? Or, more romantically, did he wish for all women to be happy enough to smile; or maybe just this one woman, maybe he would've loved to have seen one genuine smile from her. Maybe eventually, he did.

…

After the bell, right outside the classroom, Mike took Bella's fingers, leading her through the double-doors to the edge of the lawn, layered with a thin sheet of snow. The whole quad was empty of people. Bella could hear the flag high above them whipping in the wind. Facing her, Mike was acting strange, nervous. He shifted back and forth, added a little jump like he was gearing up for something, pumping himself up.

"Okay," he said.

"Okay, what?"

He blew out a frosty breath. "I want to ask you to the Winter Formal, to go with me."

Bella stammered. It was like she forgot how to speak English. And that would've been just fine, had it been the case. If she'd suddenly started speaking Spanish or French or German, it wouldn't have mattered what she said.

She couldn't go to the dance with Mike. For one thing, Jessica had a mad crush on him, and for another thing, Bella wasn't interested.

"I saw you pick your nose in first grade," she thought of saying, maybe changing his mind, making him see how ridiculous it was for him to want to take Bella out anywhere.

"I'm not going," she finally said. "I have to- my parents..." She rolled her eyes at herself for being unable to come up with an excuse on the fly, but the eye-rolling seemed to work in her favor, as if she had aimed the expression at her parents and not at herself.

"Yeah." He nodded his head, crossed his arms over his chest and raised his eyebrows. "Will you do something else for me?" He didn't look too hurt or insulted. He still looked nervous, though.

"Like what?"

This time there was no pause. He let the words come rushing out. "Like write my essay for Biers? Please? I need the grade or I'm on probation, no sports. No sports, Bella. I'll pay you."

She laughed.

"Seriously, how much?" He reached into his back pocket and pulled his wallet out.

"Just... ask Jessica to the dance, and I'll do it."

Shaking her hand, he told her that was the easiest deal ever made.

"Don't tell her about this," Bella said.

"Why would I? Maybe I suck at English, but I'm no idiot."

That weekend, while her friends were out shopping for formal dresses, Bella sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop on her lap, writing two essays: one on why cell phones should be allowed in school (his), and the other on why all art has purpose (hers).

Rosalie turned up late that night to show Bella her dress. She slipped into it, and lifted her hair while Bella zipped her up. It was a cream color, a tea color, a lot like the silk tied to Bella's bed. The dress was strapless, sweetheart shaped at the chest, with a thin belt of matching cream-colored, rice-shaped beads circling the waist. From there it fell in Chiffon layers to her mid-thigh.

"You're gorgeous," Bella said. "Royce is going to flip out. He's going to have to push his jaw closed with his hand." Bella swished at the fabric. "Now I wish I was going just so I could get a dress."

"I wish you were going, too. You could tell me what to say to Royce."

"In that thing, you won't have to say a word. He probably won't hear you anyway. Just be careful. You're the non-condom buyer, remember?"

Rose turned toward the mirror above Bella's dresser. "Does this dress say sex? It's not even tight. You should see Lauren's."

"But we're talking about Royce and teenage guys. I'm pretty sure everything says sex to them."

"Come with us."

"Yeah, right."

Bella's mother knocked and then opened the door. Once she entered, she put a hand to her heart and made this gasp sound, and said, "Oh, Rose," in a way that Bella thought was overly dramatic. "Where's yours?" she asked Bella.

"At the store."

"Do you want me to take you tomorrow?"

"No, thanks."

"Do you need money?"

"Sure."

Her mother said she'd be right back with her purse, and as much as Bella wanted to fake her mother out for money, she couldn't do it. Her mother wasn't working anymore. Bella couldn't figure out if she simply quit her job, or if she also quit her affair, and no way would she ask her. Bella didn't have a reason to believe that her mother understood how much Bella knew about her. They'd never talked about it.

When Bella was old enough to stay home alone she stopped letting herself take notice of what time her mother came home in the evenings, and she wouldn't get close enough to smell her—or if for some reason she had no choice but to get close, Bella would hold her breath for as long as it took until she backed away again. From the age of fourteen until now, Bella wasn't positive if her mother still wore that perfume.

Disappointed in herself, Bella told the truth: she wasn't going to the dance.

When her mother left the girls alone, Rose, stepping out of her dress and back into her jeans, said, "It's so awkward whenever she's around."

"Why?'

She pulled her sweater over her head. "I don't know. There's something really intense between you guys."

Bella smiled, wondering if, like the Mona Lisa, her smile looked painted on too.

...

On Wednesday, Bella's dad dropped her off at school because of the snow. Ducking her head as she got out of the car, her backpack held tight as if it were some kind of cloak that hid her, she didn't lift her face until she was far from the parking lot and well on school grounds. She was a junior. What junior gets rides from their parents? Most of her friends had their own cars. Her parents couldn't afford to buy her one even if they'd wanted to.

She wasn't sure if it had all started with that ride to school, but in every class something went wrong. In History, she stumbled over her own feet. In Intermediate Algebra, they had a pop quiz. In French she noticed a hole in her tights at the knee. But none of it was as bad as what happened in English Comp.

Bella felt her heart jump when Mr. Biers asked her to stick around after class. She had a feeling she knew why he asked this of her, but was hoping she was wrong.

"You know what this is about, don't you?" Mr. Biers asked, leaning against the back of his big desk as Bella sat across from him feeling like the littlest kid in the littlest desk.

"No." She hoped. She rubbed her hands over her thighs, tugging the hem of her dress toward her knees.

"Newton's paper?"

She shook her head. She had told Mike to take the ideas but rewrite it in his own words. Obviously he didn't listen, and it was really stupid of her to think he would.

"All right, well, it's probably best if you don't admit it. I can prove he cheated; I can't prove you wrote it, even though I know it and you know it." He scratched at his jaw. His beard was a little darker than the hair on his head.

Bella sat still. She felt as if she were a part of the desk, the wood, the cold metal.

"I won't take this to Mr. Banner, but there has to be some sort of disciplinary measure."

"Discipline? For something I didn't do?"

Mr. Biers clasped his palms together, bringing his straight fingers to his lips. "Nice try. Look, I could use a TA. It's a volunteer thing, but you might be able to get some credit for it."

"What about Mike? Will he have to TA?"

"Newton?" His eyes widened. Bella had never noticed how blue they were before. "_Newton? _I need an assistant who can actually do the job, and well, not be more of a hindrance. Mike will have to rewrite the paper on his own for half-credit, or take a zero."

Bella agreed to TA. It was better than the alternative, going to Mr. Banner. Once again, she shook hands with someone. Mr. Biers' hand was warm and more than shaking hers, he sort of held it. He put his other hand over the top of her knuckles. "Listen. If you want to help kids, be a tutor. That's great, but don't do anybody's work but your own, all right?"

"I never do."

"You're good," he said, nodding. "Now go on, get to your next class. But the assisting starts tomorrow at ten after three."

Snow or not, Bella walked home that day with her coat held tight and her hood pulled up. She walked the forest path. Halfway between the road and her house, she sat down on a fallen tree. It was so big she had to lift herself up on top of it.

She pulled out her biology text and started her reading. If someone had taken a picture of her in that moment, they would surely see a girl studying. But in reality, she wasn't reading; she was thinking of changes she needed to make in her life.

When Mike had asked her to write for him, she wasn't at all bothered by the thought of cheating. Sitting on the log with her book open on her legs, she thought something like cheating should bother a person, or in the least make them think twice before agreeing to it. What was wrong with her that she didn't? What was wrong with her that even now, thinking about it, it still wasn't the cheating she was upset about, but the embarrassment over getting caught by Mr. Biers, that even if she didn't admit to it, he knew, without a doubt.


	5. Repetition

Word Prompts:_ Petition, Ambition, R__epetition_

Choose one word and write what your imagination dictates. As an added challenge, include all three words in your entry.

* * *

**Something True**

**Repetition**

* * *

_**This Summer**_

* * *

At dusk, Bella travels between the few scores of surviving firs to her old_ place_. When the, now small patch of woods opens up to blankness, she doesn't like the way the blackened ground crumbles under her feet. Every few paces her foot feels like it might fall through the earth. Here and there, some dead, straggly-limbed, partial-trees still stand like misshapen skeletons of what they once were—or ghosts. If she so much as leans against one of them, it's sure to fall over.

But for the most part, from here all the way to the beginning of West End Road has been cleared out.

It's depressing to look at. Bella presses on over crackling sticks until she comes to the lake. Heading downshore, she thinks she'll just take a look at the cottage. She doesn't expect to see Edward standing out on the front deck tending to a sad-looking sapling in a half wine barrel.

He lifts his face to Bella. His appearance isn't much changed from last night. The outsides of his eyes are red, and his hair's standing up

"What are you doing here?" He seems to be saying this to the tree as his hands work the soil around its base.

"I was just - I was just walking."

"Rosalie's inside." He sets the end of a hose over the barrel, and moves to turn the spigot on.

Bella lets herself into the cottage. She wonders if he finished clearing the walls or if this will be a strange repetition of last night. But no, the walls are bare, missing paint in some areas, faded paint in other areas.

Not only is Rose here, but so is Royce. She's sitting on the floor between his legs as he sits on the couch. His hair falls down his neck in dark waves. He pushes some of it behind his ear. Rose turns away from whatever explosion-movie they're watching to say hi to Bella.

"Hey," Royce says.

Lifting her hand in a wave, she smiles, and it feels different, vacant—like it used to be something more substantial but now it's nothing but a shell of a smile. She can feel the emptiness in it and wonders if others can see it, like the ghost trees up the hill.

Keeping her jacket on, she sits at the far end of the couch, pretending to watch the movie on the big, old-fashioned TV encased in wood.

Bella doesn't know that Edward has come in through the back door until Rose asks, "Still alive?"

"Barely. I'm not letting it die." He has a beer in his hand and plops himself into the big chair next to the couch, leaning back, his knees spread apart. He looks exhausted, like he hasn't slept in days. Bella watches him take a sip of his beer, watches his arm return to his leg, watches his head fall back, his eyes close.

"Mom wants you home for dinner tomorrow," Rose says.

"All right," Edward says, lifting his eyebrows a little, but not his eyelids

"Really?"

"Maybe."

Eyes still closed, he brings the bottle to his mouth, takes a gulp, drops it to his knee again.

"Get me a beer, Woman," Royce says. Edward's eyes open.

"Just a sec. I like this part." It looks like the one part of the movie where the characters are actually talking, nothing is being blown up, no gunshots, no fires.

"Now, bitch," he says. "I don't wait."

"You talking shit to my sister?" Edward places his beer down on the table in front of him, and leans forward. He's wide awake now, his eyes glowering.

"She likes it."

"Get the fuck out." He stands up, towering over all of them, aiming a finger at the front door. His brow is furrowed, his jaw set, his lips tight. Bella has to look away.

"Edward, it's okay," Rose says.

"The hell it is. What?"

"He's kidding around. He doesn't mean it. Just... sit down. Royce, I'll get you a beer. I should've offered it anyway." She starts to stand up.

"You sit down, Rosalie, or everyone's out." And then to Royce, "Keep your mouth shut and get your own goddamn beer. Bella, do you want one?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Get one for Bella, too."

Royce gets up to do what Edward says, but Bella doesn't like any of this, doesn't want to be a part of it. She sneaks away into the bathroom.

The bathroom is long and narrow, wood siding on the walls. It looks like cedar, matching the floor and the coffee table in the living room. Navy towels hang neatly from the iron rack. She opens the floor cabinet across from the bathtub, more folded towels inside. Leaning her back against the cabinet, she faces the tub. It's a clawfoot tub with a clear shower curtain in front of it and a shower head coming out of the wall above it. She likes the bathroom and doesn't think she'll leave. Though, eventually she has to.

There are three other doors in the hallway. One is open and Bella peeks in to see nothing she expected, not a bed, a dresser, none of that. It looks like a music studio, a keyboard in the center, a guitar case leaning up against a wall, all kinds of electronics with buttons and knobs Bella would be afraid to touch, afraid she'd ruin something.

She hears the floor creak beside her and turns to see Edward. Looking at her, into her eyes, he leans across her, reaches out for the door handle, his chest close to her face. So close she can smell his soap and his aftershave and his skin as he pulls the door shut.

Bella would've apologized for snooping if he'd given her the chance, stuck around long enough.

She follows his shadow back to the living room. Royce is gone. It doesn't look like he got up to get any beer after all.

Rose's face is in her hands. "I tried to get him to stay." She moves her hands away and glares at Edward. "Why'd you have to do that? Stay out of my business. Things were just starting to get good again."

"_That_ was good?" Edward asks.

"Shut up. You don't know him."

"I think I know enough, and if that was good, what the hell is bad?"

"Let's go, Bella." Rose takes her wrist, leading her to the door.

"What's bad, Rosalie?"

Still pulling Bella out into the dark, she doesn't answer her brother. "I'll drive you."

"I live like ten feet away." More like ten minutes on foot. It still seems too close for driving.

"Bella?" Edward says, the porch light flickering on. He's holding the screen door open. "You live that close?"

She nods.

"You walk by here a lot?"

"It's the short-cut from school.

"You should stop by."

She's confused. She isn't sure if he means it, especially after that music room incident.

"Why?" she asks before she can think better of it.

He shrugs.

She stares, about to walk away before he says, "I like your quiet."


	6. Clarity

Word Prompt: _Clarity_

Audio-Visual Challenge—Musical Mastery_: "Lyin' Eyes" by The Eagles_

* * *

**Something True**

**Clarity**

* * *

_**Last Winter**_

* * *

Backpack on the floor by her feet, Bella sat alone in a desk toward the front of the classroom waiting for Mr. Biers to show up. She checked the wall clock twice before Mr. Biers entered with a "Hello," and set his briefcase on his desk.

Looking across at Bella, he laughed low, but Bella didn't know why.

"Come here," he said, moving out from behind his desk.

She walked over to him.

He made a circle motion with his finger for her to turn.

She faced the door. Reaching around her, he clutched the edges of her coat and pulled it off her shoulders. "Might as well take this off." He hung it on the wall by the door. "We're going to be a while."

He handed her a stack of papers from his briefcase, the comprehension test they took earlier, the answer key, and a red pen. As she returned to her seat, he explained that she would grade papers from his other classes, not the one she was in. He'd grade those.

Instead of sitting at his desk, he twisted a student desk around, sat in it sideways with his legs up on the seat across from him, and kicked back grading papers.

Bella noticed a few gray hairs in his scruff. He glanced up, catching her looking, and she dropped her head fast, her attention on the papers in front of her.

They spent the rest of their time silently grading. She could almost hear the ticking of the clock.

…

Bella found out just how much could happen in one night. Winter Formal had brought her friends more than dates; they now had boyfriends.

The day of the Winter Formal was also the last day of school before Winter Break. Christmas was that week, which could have explained why she didn't see much of her friends. Though she knew it was more likely that they were off with their boyfriends. Saturday night, two days after Christmas, Rose invited Bella to spend the night.

They lived in the hills in one of the bigger homes in Forks. Although Rose didn't brag about their money, she was proud that her mom, an OBGYN, was the one of her parents who made the most money.

Rose's mom, a dress-type apron tied around her, invited Bella in and went to get Rose. Their living and dining area was one big, long room with a Christmas tree at one end and a grand piano at the farthest end in front of corner windows.

Peppermint candles were flickering all over. When Bella first stepped in with her overnight bag slung over her shoulder, the house smelled delicious, but after a while the scent became overwhelming. It began to make her nauseous. She was sure she could taste the artificial peppermint in her turkey and mashed potatoes with gravy.

Edward and his girlfriend were there, sitting across the dining table from Bella and Rose. It was their last night. In the morning they would return to Seattle.

Her name was Angela. She had the kind of brown eyes that were so dark it was hard to make out where the pupils began. After dinner, in the living area of the room, Angela was sitting on Edward's lap. For just a second, Bella wished she was Angela, wished her own light brown eyes were darker and mysterious, wished Edward was running his hand up and down her arm the way he was Angela's just then.

Bella turned to Rose. "Let's go to your room."

Rose said she'd meet her there. Bella sat, waiting on the bed. Rose's room was black and white and sky blue. She had three rare album covers framed over her bed: The Who's _Quadrophenia,_ The Smiths' debut album, and The Beatles' _A Hard Day's Night_—which she'd said was worth a lot of money because of a printing error.

She had two white dressers placed side by side to create the look of one long piece that took up nearly the entire length of the wall. On top of the double-dressers was where her TV and record player sat. Bella got up and searched through the rack of records. She chose The Kinks.

_All Day and All of the Night_ was playing when Rose came in with a purple sack in one hand, two shot glasses in the other, and a smile all over her face. She asked Bella to lock the door and from the drawstring sack she slipped out a near-full bottle of Crown Royal.

"Supposed to be the good stuff," Rose said. She sat on the floor pouring two glasses. The liquid trickled in.

"_Girl, I want to be with you all of_ the_ time_," Rose sang along to the record, bobbing her head, as she handed Bella a glass. It was only with Bella that she came out of her shell like this, and Bella loved this side of Rose. They clinked their glasses in a toast, and threw them back.

It was like fire in her throat. "Chaser. Chaser," Bella choked out.

Rose raced to her bedside table and came back with a box of molasses chips. Both of the girls shoved one in their mouth.

"My grandpa used to drink this stuff," Rose said, pouring a second shot for each of them. "He said you don't add anything to good whiskey; you respect it as it is."

The next shot was just as bad as the first, but the one after that went down smoother. After a while both girls were lying on their backs, looking up at the ceiling.

"Royce is so nice," Rose said, sounding like she was in a dream. Bella turned her heavy head to look at her. "After the dance, he kissed me." She touched her lips. "So softly, like, I barely felt it, but I couldn't _help_ feeling it at the same time. You know?"

Bella nodded even though she didn't know. The last boy she kissed was Jacob Black, but his kiss was not soft, not at all what Rose was describing. He had put his tongue right in her mouth, and Bella, until just then on Rose's floor, thought that was what kissing was. She didn't understand the hype of it.

"He didn't try anything else. He didn't even put his hand up my dress. I think he might be a virgin, too."

"Really? Royce?"

"I don't know. But he didn't even try. And he still hasn't. He hasn't even kissed my neck or anything."

"Wow," breathed Bella. To date someone who was a virgin would be the perfect thing, but Bella really didn't think there were any left her age. "You're lucky."

"I know."

It took effort, but they did it. They got up and changed into their nightshirts.

Bella wore her dad's_ I Love New York_ shirt, a souvenir from their trip when she was fourteen. Her mother hadn't gone with them, saying she couldn't get out of work, she had this big commercial campaign due. Bella had tried to avoid searching her mother's eyes for the lie. It turned out that didn't matter. She could hear it, and looking away from something was much easier than closing your ears to it.

It was just Bella and her dad in New York. She had been amazed by the height of the skyscrapers. She spent more time looking up than straight ahead or down. Her dad had to pull her away from bumping into people. "Just like your mom," he'd said. "In your own world."

It was there in New York, in the shadow of one of the biggest buildings she'd ever seen, making her feel smaller than an ant in the world, that she recognized the truth in her dad's words: she wasn't much different from her mother. She hid a lie, too, and if anyone looked for it, it would be clear as day in her eyes; if they listened for it, it could be heard in her voice like the screeching brakes of a school bus.

Rose wandered over to her dresser to change the record, moving from The Kinks to The Turtles. She had this rule about vinyl. She would only buy the records of bands who originally released on vinyl.

While Rose was struggling with getting the needle set down carefully, Bella was becoming the record. With a spinning head, she stumbled into the hall toward the bathroom.

Even using the wall for balance, it was like she was walking on rickety tree limbs. She nearly fell, and what a long drop that would've been, she knew. An arm around her back caught her.

"Whoa," came Edward's low voice.

She whispered something that was meant to be "thank you," but even in her state she could tell how incoherent it was, coming out quiet and only, "Thank..."

"You're fucked up," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Yes." She laughed and he shushed her, helping her to the bathroom. She turned and looked up at him. He was so tall, and built. She could see the muscles in his chest through his thin white tee, and the way his biceps pushed against the sleeves. A man. Not quite the man that Mr. Biers was, but more a man than any of the boys at school.

Trying for some clarity through the tunnel she seemed to be looking down, she focused on his face. He had stubble on his jaw. His lips were kind of pink. She started to imagine what his kisses were like, if they were soft like Royce's or fast like Jacob's, or something in between. Staring into his eyes, she could've asked about his kisses, could've talked about that condom incident at the market, if he hadn't interrupted her thoughts with a grinning, "Goodnight, lush."

His hand left her body.


	7. Wine

Word Prompt:_ Wine_

Dialogue Flex: _"Do you remember this song?"_

* * *

**Something True**

**Wine**

* * *

_**This Summer**_

* * *

Another blue line at the base of her wall. Two-hundred sixty-two days to go until graduation.

Bella has started walking her short-cut to and from school again. When Rose offers her a ride home, she says she wants to walk. Royce is usually there anyway, and she's uncomfortable around the two of them. Bella knows too much and she knows better, but Rose won't listen. She's afraid to push it, afraid to get Rose mad at her the way the other girls are mad at her, or the way Rose is mad at Edward.

Every day she gets close enough to see the cottage, the little tree in the barrel on its last limb, but without Edward in sight she walks on toward home. She doesn't have the guts to knock on the door without Rose around, and after what happened between Edward and Royce, Rose has been avoiding her brother.

When she gets near the point of the old forest where her fallen tree used to be, she steps over it like it's still there. But if it were, she wouldn't be able to step over it. She'd have to climb over it or walk around it.

Moving on, looking around at the nothingness, she wishes something good, just one thing good in her life could stay, not change, not burn to the ground, not go to Hell.

Gossip and taunts have gotten quieter at school, but Bella knows that's when you have to be careful.

They're playing softball in gym. Some of the guys are hanging around watching the girls play. Bella holds the bat, preparing to hit the ball, she swings and misses. Her teammates keep reminding her to bend her knees.

"You can do it, Bella," Paul says. "No one's saying get on your knees, just bend them." Male snickering breaks out.

"Shut up, ass!" It's Alice. Bella drops the tip of her bat to the ground and turns to her, but Alice is looking in the opposite direction.

She sets up again, getting into position, bending her knees. She watches the ball come toward her, and she can feel it before her bat strikes; it's going far. She sprints to first, passes, runs to second, where she stays.

"Oh, come on," a deep voice yells, not Paul this time. "Could'a at least made it to third." Laughter again. Bella pretends she hears nothing but the wind and the birds screeching in the sky. She wants to rub her face, but keeps her itching hands at her sides, flexing them and fisting them, waiting for the next batter. She focuses on the game, nothing but the game.

…

"Do you remember this?" Her dad asks, pouring himself another glass of wine then pointing at the ceiling. But it isn't the ceiling he's asking about, it's the music.

Bella bites into her chicken leg.

At the other end of the table, her mother gasps. "It's the mixed tape I made you." She laughs. "We were nineteen." She looks at Bella, who's wiping her greasy fingers off on her napkin.

"All the bands you wanted us to see together," her dad says.

"Did you see them together?" Bella asks.

"Two or three," her mother says.

Standing up her dad says, "Dance with me, Renee."

It takes some coaxing, but eventually she takes his hand and lets him spin her there in the dining room.

They look like kids and Bella feels too much like the adult. She has to get out. She mumbles something about a study date, throws her chicken bones in the trash, rinses her plate, places it the dishwasher, and then heads to her room for her jacket and backpack. She takes off while her parents are still dancing.

Ten minutes later she's ringing Edward's doorbell. The door squeaks open.

"Hey." He pushes the screen out for her so she can pass through.

Arms around her middle, holding her jacket, she steps in.

He looks better, like he's been sleeping. No more red around the eyes, and his hair is neater, like he might have actually combed it after a shower.

The table lamp by the couch is the only light on in the place. The cottage glows yellow.

Edward puts a movie in and they sit on the couch, Bella's backpack between them. Last year, to be this close to Edward would've killed Bella. Her heart would've been racing, her palms sweaty, but not now. She's warm, but not sweaty and her heart rate is normal, if not a little slow. They don't say much, but that's okay. It isn't like her first time here when Bella prayed that Edward would say something.

About halfway through the movie, Bella pushes her shoes off with her toes and lifts a foot to the couch, hugging her leg, chin resting on her knee.

"Want a drink?" Edward asks.

"No, thanks."

She leaves at the end of the movie, shoving her feet back into her shoes. She doesn't know what else to do. Edward may look better, but he still isn't the Edward he used to be. It's clear she isn't the person she used to be either. She wonders if he recognizes this, if he thinks about it.

She wants to know what changed him, but she doesn't want him to know what changed her, so she asks no questions.

He walks her to the door. He doesn't ask her to come back, but on Saturday she does. It's easier this time.

He answers the door in a baseball cap and jeans with white splotches on them.

"You're painting."

"What gave it away?" He holds up a hand, white fingertips.

"Need help?" Inside she takes off her jacket, laying it over the back of a kitchen chair. The thick fumes of the paint fill her, waking her senses.

The furniture muddles the center of the room, the coffee table upside down on top of the couch.

Walking across plastic tarps laid over the floor, she takes the extra roller Edward's handing her and saturates it with paint from a shared pan. She starts on the side of the cottage near the hallway, the bathrooms, the bedrooms. The white looks so much more alive over the dull blue.

Edward takes a break from painting to water his tree outside. When he comes back in, he plays music from his iPad. "Remember this song?"

"No."

"_No?" _He turns the volume up. "Madness. _Shut Up._"

"What?"

He laughs and Bella's eyes jump to his. He's really smiling. It's the first time since they've been hanging out that he's smiled, let alone laughed. "No," he says. "_Shut Up_. It's the name of the song." He picks up a roller. "This song, it's all about the piano. Listen."

Maybe's it's the music or his laugh or his smile, but Bella finds the courage to ask Edward why he didn't go back to school when he only had one more year left.

He stares at her for a few seconds, the music blaring on around them, the heavy sound of piano keys Edward seems to love, the strong, repetitive beat of the bass, the British accents. Edward sets his roller in the pan and motions for her to follow him. He leads her to his music studio.

"This is why." He opens the door but doesn't walk through. Standing in the hall he says, "I want to be a composer. I mean, I am one. Or was. I don't know. I've composed for theater, for some video games, some documentaries. I started to get repeat work from directors. It took up most of my time. I quit school to compose full time. Out here, by the lake." He shuts the door. "I haven't been doing it lately." He scratches at dried paint on his temple. "I will, though. I have to."

"Because of the money?"

"Because I have to."

Back in the living room a new song is playing, another upbeat one that Bella assumes is Madness again, the same non-serious sound—the opposite of their conversation.

"Some people can be a lot of different things, you know? Maybe that's why some people have a hard time deciding what to do, because they have a lot of choices. But that's not me. I'm one thing. A composer. Not a student, not anything else. My parents don't get that. Do you?"

"What about making a living? If you're not composing..."

"If I have to work somewhere to pay the bills, then I will, but that won't be who I am. It'll be nothing but a job. Temporary until I can compose again."

"Your parents aren't..." She decides she's prying and stops, going back to her painting. She isn't paying enough attention and some of the paint sprays off the roller and onto her face. She blinks.

"My mom's disappointed in me. I can't look at her. Even if she doesn't say anything - and usually she does make some comment. But even when she doesn't, I can see it all over her face. They want me to continue school, compose after I'm done. But I couldn't let these opportunities pass me by just because I had a class."

The music changes again, the blank space in between filled with the sticky, rhythmic sound of two rollers.

"What about you? What do you want to do?"

She wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. "Used to be English, but now I don't know. Maybe I'm one of those _many things_ people." Bella likes the thought of having a lot of choices. Edward might be happy being one thing, but she has to hope she has more options than who she is, who she's been. She crosses her fingers on one hand while she continues rolling paint with the other one.


	8. Limit

A/N: I'm sure you've noticed, but I thought I should mention that I do take liberties with the town of Forks.

Word Prompt: _Limit_

_A single word meant to inspire immediate thought. Write what your imagination dictates._

* * *

**Something True**

**Limit**

* * *

_**Last Winter**_

* * *

After the break it was a new semester. Bella no longer had English class with Mr. Biers but she was signed up to TA for him, this time for credit. He told her to take it seriously because what she was doing was directly affecting the students' education. So she did take it seriously, and she liked it. It made her think she wanted to be an English teacher.

She helped with the syllabus, the grading, and even tutored some students one at a time in the back of the class. It's really hard for some people to understand how to find themes in a novel, and an argument to write about. She guessed it was similar to the way that while memorizing the Periodic Table of Elements and what the letters represented was easy for others, it was difficult for her.

With Paul, though, it made Bella wonder if he'd done the reading at all. When she asked him to come up with a theme, he spouted out something random he couldn't offer examples of.

Bella's meetings with Mr. Biers were now limited to twice a week after school—Mondays and Fridays. When they finished on Friday, he took her coat off the hook and held it up for Bella to slip her arms through. Rain was pounding against the window. He offered to share his umbrella. She pulled her hood up too, because whenever the person you shared an umbrella with was taller, it didn't really work that well for the shorter one, especially when wind was involved.

"Where's your car?" he asked as they approached the empty student lot. He'd shaved his beard over the holiday, and while he wasn't completely clean shaven, it did make him look younger.

"I don't have one."

"How do you get home?"

"Friends, sometimes. On days I stay late I usually walk. Or call my dad if he's off."

Mr. Biers looked ahead, looked at Bella, looked ahead again. He sighed. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

They walked to the teacher lot. His car, the red Jeep Cherokee, was the last one there. He cleared papers and books off his passenger seat and tossed them into the back. Bella slid in, kicking old water bottles out of her way.

"I think it's a rule that English teachers have to be disorganized. Or a curse." With a hand at the back of Bella's seat, head turned over his shoulder, he pulled out of his parking space.

"That's why you have me," Bella said, and he glanced over at her as he drove out of the parking lot.

Eyes back on the road, he nodded. "That's why I have you."

...

The sleepovers were Rosalie's idea. Each weekend one girl in their group would have the rest of the girls sleep over. They'd alternate every week. This weekend they were at Lauren's house, and she was complaining to Jessica.

"You can't just leave with him," she said, as Jessica pulled on her jeans. "That ruins the whole point of just girls."

"I'm not leaving," Jessica said, buttoning her pants. "I mean, I'll be back. And one point of girlfriends is to cover for each other, right? With my parents, when else will me and Mike get any alone time?"

That made Alice fall back on Lauren's bed and laugh. "Sex, Jess. Call it what it is." She poked Rose's side. "Or for some people, maybe_ making love_. Have you and Royce yet?"

"None of your business," Rose said.

"That means no. What are you waiting for?"

"She's not ready," said Bella. "Leave her alone."

"You're just afraid you'll be the last virgin."

"Alice!" Jessica said, just as Bella said, "Yeah, that keeps me up at night. All night long I pray that Rose won't have sex so that I won't be the only virgin."

Lauren threw a pillow at Alice. "You're the type of friend our parents warn us against."

"Thank you," Alice said, situating the pillow behind her head and closing her eyes. "You know I love you, don't you?" With her eyes still closed, she put her hand on Bella's knee. Bella picked up her hand and linked their fingers.

"In your own way," Bella said, which made Alice laugh so hard she rolled to her side.

…

The _Peninsula Daily News _did a write up on Mr. Biers' trust exercise. The reporter didn't come to the school, Mr. Biers just explained to her what we did. A photographer came out for a photo that was supposed to look spontaneous but was actually set up. Mike and Jessica got their picture in the paper.

Mr. Biers had everyone partner up; one person would be blindfolded and the other person would be the guide all over campus. Nobody really knew what this had to do with English, but it was something Mr. Biers did every year, and nobody complained about it because it got them out of class. In fact, Juniors always looked forward to it.

"I'll be your partner," Mr. Biers said, coming up to Bella with a blindfold. He covered her eyes with it and tied it behind her head.

At first she stumbled along slowly. "Don't worry. I won't let you fall or run into anything."

No light came through the blindfold at all. Bella knew she was being led outside when she felt the icy wind on her face. The breeze blew at her hair, some strands getting caught in her lipstick. She pushed the strands aside and scraped her teeth against her itchy bottom lip.

"Where are we?" Bella asked.

"Here." He had her step to the right—grass. "The quad."

She could imagine they were at the beginning of it, near the flag, but when she listened she couldn't hear it flapping. They must have been on the opposite side.

"Near the gym?"

"Yes, exactly, good. Keep going straight. There's nothing near you. You're wide open."

A few yards later he told her there were some stairs to her right, to turn and walk up them. He took her hand and placed it on the metal handrail. As she walked up the steps, he placed his hand against her hair and coat between her shoulder blades, bracing her in case she lost her balance.

"One more step," he said, pressing her back.

Bella thought it was strange that while she knew he'd shaved, when she pictured him with her blindfold on, he still had his beard.


	9. Tunnel

A/N: The prompt today is different. Fictionista published their prompt too late for me. I have a small window of writing time on weekdays, so my friend Thimbles offered me a prompt this afternoon.

Word Prompt = _Tunnel_

* * *

**Something True**

**Tunnel**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

Last night, the wrong things tunneled through Bella's mind as she tossed and turned under the comforter, kicked it to the floor

The phone calls. The texts.

_You've missed three sleepovers. —_Lauren

"Are you mad?" Alice.

"Call me back." Jessica.

_What's going on with you? —_Rose.

They had gone on and on through the month of June until Bella heard from Alice,"This is the last time I'm calling until you stop pretending like I don't exist." After that, Bella had hit ignore and started deleting voicemails without listening to them.

Hours later, between thought and sleep, a siren startled Bella awake.

_Where's the fire now?_ she thought._ What now?_

In the morning there's no news of a fire, no smoke darkening the sky, no ash falling like rain over the town.

It's the first day of Fall. A new season. Maybe it's time for new things to happen.

She steps onto school grounds thinking she'll apologize to her friends. Instead of dragging her feet through the halls, eyes cast down, she searches out her old best friends. She finds them huddled together in front of Lauren's locker.

It's odd looking at them like this from the outside. Like she doesn't belong where she used to. Like all of her friends have become butterflies while she is still a caterpillar. Or not even an active caterpillar, but one trapped in her chrysalis.

As Bella inches into their circle, Rose is the only one who says hi to her. The others pretend she isn't there.

"You guys," Bella says, but even she can barely hear her own voice as it's drowned out by the bell.

The girls disperse.

Bella stands in her spot, the hall emptying like liquid poured from pitchers.

What would she say to them, anyway? It's not like she could give them an explanation; and why should she have to? She crosses her arms over her chest. If they want to throw away over ten years of friendship, and can't understand that someone might have been going through something that has nothing to do with them, then screw them.

Bella stalks off to her next class shutting her mind from the thought,_ How could they know I was going through anything if I never told them? _

_..._

Bella has continued to spend time at Edward's cottage. She doesn't go every day, or even every week, but when she does show up, without notice, he opens the door for her with a "Hey," as if he's expecting her.

This is something about Edward that reminds her of Rose. His acceptance of Bella, his welcoming.

They stay indoors most of the time, trading few words. They learn things about each other through observation. Both of them wear jeans and a T-shirt every day like it's life's uniform. Bella knows that Edward would rather listen to music with his eyes closed, head back against the chair, than watch TV. She knows that he only shaves once a week. Day by day he lets it grow, until midweek he shaves it all off. She knows that Edward never steps foot in his studio, at least not when Bella is around.

Edward probably knows that Bella would rather say nothing at all than to tell him his tree is never going to make it through winter. He must know that while Bella rarely takes her jacket off at the cottage, she always ends up out of her shoes. He might know that every time she comes over something troubling has sent her here. What it is, he can't know. It varies. Sometimes it has to do with her parents. Sometimes it's a break from her own mind she seeks.

Every once in a while, Edward says he needs to get out, and after watering his tree, they stroll along the shore listening to the water lapping and the birds overhead until they get to the Great Rock, where they turn and follow their footprints back the way they came.

Today they stop to check out his tree on their way back inside. "It looks better, right?"

Bella searches for any sign that it doesn't look worse. She can't find one.

Inside she takes off both her jacket and her shoes. When there's a knock at the door, Edward shoots Bella a puzzled frown as if to say, "You're already here; who could it be?"

Angela, looking designer-beautiful in high-heeled boots, jeans, and a crochet cardigan, stands on the other side of the door.

"Can we talk?" Her voice is soft, but high-pitched. She shifts her eyes to Bella. "Alone?"

"Nope."

She doesn't move. Bella shifts on the couch.

"Hey," Angela says. "Rosalie's friend, Bella?"

Edward interrupts Bella's beginning of a nod. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to talk. To you."

"Good luck with that." He disappears into the kitchen.

She enters, the screen shutting behind her. "Just give me a chance." She lifts her chin, stretching her neck as she tries to raise her voice, but it still sounds stifled.

He doesn't answer. He reappears with a beer in his hand.

"Still here?"

"Edward." She looks at the floor, sleek black hair falling forward. "I drove all the way from Seattle."

"And that's my fault?"

"No." She looks up at him, her eyes watery. "Please?" She glances to her right where the bedrooms are.

Bella follows Edward's gaze to the gold necklace Angela's toying with at her chest. It's a word, or words, on a chain that Bella can't read from where she is. Edward's shoulders drop. He turns to Bella. "We'll just be a minute."

He leads Angela to his room.

"What is she doing here?" She can hear Angela ask before he closes the door. Bella doesn't hear his answer. The sound of raised voices—his then hers—have Bella slipping into her shoes and walking out the back door, heading through sand to the dock. She steps past the lamppost, past a wading Blue Heron looking for food, onto the dock. It sways over the water as she wanders to the end of it where she sits gazing out at the lake, out at the island.

She peers over her shoulder to check for the heron. It's still there. What was it Mrs. Cameron had told her about the Blue Heron when they'd spotted one together? It was a Native American legend, she'd said, and she'd simplified it into something like, "When a Blue Heron finds you, don't be surprised if you see yourself clearer, understand and accept the truth of your emotions." Bella was barely twelve then, and hadn't really understood what any of that meant; and now, sitting on the dock watching the heron—its tall, elegant body, its long neck—she still isn't sure. She closes her eyes, waiting to feel something.

She feels a chill.

The sun is just beginning to set, sending a streak of orange light across the water. The air is getting colder. Pulling her arms inside her T-shirt, she crosses them over her chest and curls into her knees. Her jacket's still inside. She contemplates leaving it there and going home.

"I thought you left." Edward's at the edge of the dock, squinting under the lamplight. "She's gone."

Bella stands as Edward approaches. His eyes are red-rimmed again. Bella doesn't like it. She has a better idea of what the cause is now.

Hands in his jacket pockets, he gestures with an elbow toward the aluminum fishing boat. "It's my grandpa's. Want to go for a ride?"

They climb into the boat. Out of a metal chest from behind Bella's bench, Edward grabs a wool blanket and lays it over her shoulders. She wraps it around herself, and he yanks the motor to a stuttering start.

The rumbling boat, splashing water, slapping wind, are the only sounds. No one else is around.

In the middle of the lake, Edward kills the motor and the silence seems to rush at them from every angle as it takes over. They drift. The water looks gray and thick.

Edward rubs over his face, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

"What happened?" Bella asks.

He lets his hands drop, eyes on Bella. "What happened to you?"

"Okay." Holding the blanket tighter around her, she leans against the unforgiving metal edge of the chest behind her, and averts her gaze toward the faraway shore. Beyond the fir trees is the peak of a mountain topped with snow.

"She fucked my roommate, all right?"

Bella flinches, at the words, the harsh tone with which he spit them out. She remembers for the briefest of seconds how she'd once wished to be Angela, maybe more than once.

Something inside of her wants to wring Angela's neck. Or cry.

"I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry. Please."

"She wants you back?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want her back?"

He opens his mouth in answer, but pauses. And then, "I wish I didn't."

"You still love her?"

He turns away from her, blinking against the wind. "I wasn't ready to - I wasn't. I mean, we weren't in a place where I was... ready to break up with her. She- Forget it."

"Broke your heart?"

He nods.

"It isn't real."

"What isn't?"

"Heartbreak."

Edward sighs. "All right." He starts the motor up again. "It's getting too dark." He asks Bella to take the big flashlight out of the case and shine it out in front of them so he can see where he's going.

Back at the dock, he ties the boat up, and offers his hand to Bella when she climbs out. He lets her keep the blanket over her shoulders as they head back to the cottage.

"I liked it better when you didn't know," he says. "You were the one person..."

Bella understands exactly what he means and almost feels bad for knowing, for no longer being able to give him the peace from his troubles he probably needs. She should learn not to ask questions.

...

Edward slides the backdoor closed behind them. "What did you mean heartbreak isn't real?"

Bella starts folding the blanket. "I mean. I know you feel it. I'm not trying to say you don't. But love isn't real, so heartbreak can't be real. It's just... we're fooled."

"Aren't you a little young to be so jaded?"

"What does age have to do with truth?" Remembering the heron, she nods once to herself, picks up her jacket from the kitchen chair, and pulls it on.

Edward walks her to the door. Before she leaves, she turns around, lifts to her toes and hugs him, her arms sliding over his shoulders and around his neck. He hugs her back, light at first, but then she feels him squeeze tight and take a deep breath before he releases her.

She pushes the screen open.

"Wait." He grabs his keys from the kitchen counter. "I'll walk you home."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so much for continuing to read, for trusting me with this, and for the reviews and recs.

I understand that this will not always be an easy story to read, which is why I've categorized it under angst.


	10. Threat

Hi! Guess what? I've been summoned to jury duty. Yayyy! (sarcasm)

So, because my upcoming schedule is unknown, I don't know when my next update will be. Depending on how tomorrow goes, there may be a delay, there may not be. If there is a delay, you'll know why. But I'll be back to writing and posting ASAP.

Thanks for all your support, my lovely readers.

Word Prompt:_ Threat_

Dialogue Flex: _"Are you always so competitive?"_

_Using the provided snippet of dialogue, explore what comes to mind, be it a scene, a thought, or something else._

* * *

**Something True**

**Threat**

* * *

_**Last Winter**_

* * *

"Nice dress," he said after helping her out of her coat. He hung it on the hook and closed the door. "A lot has changed since I was in high school. We had to wear uniforms."

"You went to a private school?"

"No. Public school. Back in the nineties they were experimenting with uniforms, thinking the style of dress caused more problems at school. Arguing against uniforms was a popular persuasive topic for essays back then. Similar to the popularity of the cell phone topic now. You know, like the essay you wrote for Newton?"

Taking her usual seat at a desk front and center, Bella studied the fake woodgrain.

"Oh, right, you know nothing about that. I forgot."

Smiling, she looked up at Mr. Biers. He sat in the desk beside her, first turning it around to sit sideways like he usually did.

"Yeah, so, we had to wear uniforms to-" he cleared his throat, his voice deepening "-discourage problems at school, yet we used to get high with our teachers. Makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Your teachers got high with you?" Bella studied his face trying to guess his age. Creases only really settled in when he smiled. Under forty. If not for the few gray hairs she'd noticed in his beard before he shaved it, she'd guess under thirty-five. But she wasn't so sure. She had the feeling he appeared younger than his true age.

"Not all of them. Two of them." He leaned in closer. "Rumors ran rampant, and while everybody talked about it, only the few involved actually believed it."

"So they never got caught?"

"Not to my knowledge. I probably shouldn't be talking to you about this. In fact, this might be the last thing I should be talking to you about."

Bella felt her face and her palms heat up. "It doesn't bother me."

Mr. Biers loosened his tie. It was a dark blue tie over a pale blue shirt, both accentuating his eyes. "No, it wouldn't, would it? You're a lot more mature than the average student here. Newton, for instance, what would he do with that kind of information? Forget it." He held up a hand. "Don't tell me. But listen, I don't do that stuff anymore. That was... I was troubled back then. My parents divorce knocked me down. Actually, it wasn't just the divorce. That I could've dealt with. It was that they had me choose the parent I wanted to live with. How does a kid make a choice like that?"

"I'd choose my dad in a second."

"Well, that was easy. You and your mom don't..."

"No."

Bella looked at Mr. Biers, and he looked back at her. Then, after seven years held under lock and key inside her, she freed her secret. And while the first few words were hard to get out, after that, they seemed to pour from her.

He reached forward, took hold of her hand on her lap, and squeezed, the backs of his fingers grazing her thigh. "That's quite a burden for a young girl to carry. You must be incredibly strong." He let go of her hand. "Is this something that's still going on?"

"I - I'm not sure. I stopped paying attention. I didn't want to know. I haven't seen or heard anything that would prove it in a long time."

"Maybe it's behind her. A temporary lapse in judgement."

Looking down at her lap, Bella threaded her fingers together. Maybe he was right. Maybe.

Mr. Biers cleared his throat and changed the subject, changing the feel of the air in the classroom. There seemed to be more of it, and it seemed to move even with the door and windows closed. "Why haven't I seen an entry form from you for the essay competition?"

Bella shrugged.

"You are planning on entering, aren't you?"

"Haven't decided."

He went over to his desk, slipped an entry form from a file in his drawer, and offered it to Bella. "I want to see you enter."

"I already have one."

"Here's an extra one. You still have over a month to get your essay turned in. Plenty of time."

"Is Tanya entering?"

"Her entry form was the first to come in. Why do you ask?"

"I just want to see what I'll be up against, and she'd be my biggest competition. "

"You know this through assisting me?"

Bella nodded.

"Are you discounting the seniors?" He leaned against the front of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest and one ankle over the other. "I had some great writers last year."

"Who?" Bella uncrossed her legs, feet planted firmly on the floor and sat up straight in her seat.

Mr. Biers laughed. "Are you always this competitive? You're the best writer in the school. Is that what you want to hear?"

"That'll do."

...

On her way home, Bella sat on her tree, and by fading light filled out her entry form.

She didn't walk through her front door until nearly five. Her mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner, stirring her vegetable saute.

"What did you do today?" Bella asked. Her mother's eyes widened like she was bewildered.

"You're interested in my day?'

Bella nodded.

"Well... I refinished the back deck railing. This winter really did a number on it. Took me all day. I had to strip it and sand it down first."

"Why did you quit your job?"

"Is this an interview? You writing a book?" She turned the stove off, lifted the pan and shook the vegetables around. "I quit because I felt like my family needed me around more. That job took so much time. I couldn't even go on vacations with you guys. Though you didn't seem to mind much, did you?"

"Dad did."

"But not you?"

"Need help?"

"What's gotten into you?" She reached into the cabinet for two plates and handed them to Bella. "It's just us girls tonight. Your dad's on duty."

"I know." Bella set the table. Over dinner, she told her mother about the contest, that the top three persuasive essays chosen by the English department would be entered in the Seattle competition. The winner would receive a $5000 college scholarship.

Her mother dabbed at her lips with her napkin, revealing a smile when she dropped her hand. "I'll help you with research, the internet, take you to the library if you need to go."

"The internet might be enough, but thanks."

Her mother leaned forward, a slight frown taking over her brow before her face relaxed. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

That weekend, when Bella returned from the sleepover at Jessica's, a sheet of paper was waiting for her on her bed. She picked it up and read it: a list of persuasive topics on current events ordered by importance, according to her mother.

After that, Bella watched her mother when she could. Called her at random times. Expecting voicemail at first, she learned she should come up with an excuse for the call ahead of time. "Can I go to Rose's after school," and "I forgot what i called for," could only work so many times.

...

"Mr. Biers?" she said as she entered his classroom. He looked up from his computer.

"Miss Swan?" He side-smiled.

"I think my mom stopped her affair. She's different than before, around more. Kind of happy. I think."

He swiveled his chair around to face her. "Perhaps she's seen the error of her ways."

"Maybe she does still love my dad."

He stood up. "That's important to you, is it? That she love him?"

"He loves her." Bella's voice cracked, her eyes welling up.

Mr. Biers spoke in a near whisper. "Okay. Okay." He squeezed her shoulder. "Maybe she does love him. It's certainly possible to falter in a relationship and still be in love."

Tears trickled down her cheeks. Mr. Biers pulled some tissues from the box on his desk and brought them to Bella.

Wiping her cheeks, she said, "Thank you, Mr. Biers."

"Hey, when it's just the two of us," he ducked his head to meet her eyes, "you can call me Riley."


	11. Regret

Word Prompt: _Regret_

To see the image prompt, paste this address into your browser, closing any spaces and changing "dot" to a period: 500px dot com /photo /1734221

* * *

**Something True**

**Regret**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

After school on Friday, beneath a cloud-swollen sky, Bella finds Rose pinned by Royce against his car. They're kissing wild, and he's going at her like he's about to have sex with her right there in the parking lot. Hardly able to believe what she's seeing and without thinking, Bella rushes past oglers and chucklers.

"Royce!" she says, taking Rose's arm. "I need my friend." She glares at Royce and tugs Rose away. "Your keys." She holds her hand out.

Rose climbs into the passenger seat of her BMW.

"Why are you letting him treat you like this?" Bella asks as she drives out of the parking lot. "You think you deserve it, but you don't, okay? You don't. Maybe it's time to dump his ass."

She chances a look at Rose, and spots tears spilling from her eyes. Bella pulls over to the shoulder into the dirt on the side of the road. "Rose?"

"I can't. I love him."

Bella drapes her fingers down her friend's arm. "But it isn't the same, is it? Not for either of you."

"It could be. Sometimes it's like it never happened."

"Okay. I trust that you know what you're doing. Just don't let him hurt you. Maybe you messed up, but that doesn't mean he gets to hurt you back every day of your life."

Rose doesn't say anything.

"Promise you won't let him."

"I promise."

"Promise you'll talk to him and tell him to stop this. Tell him it has to be like before or not at all."

"I'm not telling him that."

"Well leave out the last part. Tell him it has to be like before. Promise."

She doesn't answer.

"Rose, promise."

"All right. I promise."

...

On Saturday, next to Edward's dying tree, Bella knocks on the cottage door. It takes him longer than usual to answer, and for the first time out of all the times she's come here, it occurs to her that he might not be home.

But then he opens the door.

"Oh my gosh," Bella says entering, her voice squeaking on the "gosh." She covers her mouth. Her next "Oh my gosh" is muffled behind her hand.

Curled up and sleeping at the base of Edward's chair is a little black puppy. She kneels down next to him and starts stroking his fur.

"Don't wake him up."

Bella looks up at Edward. "'Cause he's a baby?"

"Because he's a ten week old German Shepherd."

Bella doesn't know what he means by that and continues petting the soft coat. "He's perfect. What's his name?"

"Thelonious."

Bella's petting stops, her eyes fixed on Edward's. "The_loniou_s? He's a puppy."

"Thelonious Monk. The jazz composer. The piano great? Call him Theo if you want."

"Oh, no. I'm calling him Thelonious. He's definitely Thelonious, the piano great."

The puppy wakes with a yawn bigger than his head. It brings out a whine. He stands and sniffs Bella's arm, then stretches up to sniff her shoulder.

"Hi, Thelonious." Bella tries to pet his throat but he nips at her wrist. "Ow. No, Thelonious." She goes to pet him again and again he bites her finger. "Ow!" She yanks her arm back. "He hates his name."

Edward picks up the dog and a little toy rope. The dog chews and chews at the end of the rope.

"Why does he bite so much?"

"Because he's a German Shepherd puppy. It's what they do."

"It hurts. And he's going to get big."

"Sorry. It's how he plays right now. He'll learn to stop before he's too big."

In Edward's arms, Thelonious seems to have lost interest in the rope and bites at Edward's shirt sleeve. He sets the dog on the floor.

"He's not Thelonious," Bella says. "He's Biter."

Bella thinks about stepping up on the couch to protect her ankles and shins, but the dog sits, looking up at Edward like he's waiting for a command. Bella doubts he knows any quite yet.

"Look, he's winking at you."

Edward leans down and scratches behind his ear. The dog blinks lazily. Edward squats closer, sliding his hand down to scratch Biter's throat and chest where his one diamond-shaped light brown patch is. The dog lifts his snout to sniff Edward's chin. They look at each other like they're in love, and luckily the puppy doesn't bite Edward's face off.

"Good boy, Pal," Edward says.

Tail wagging, he wanders away sniffing at his surroundings before chewing on the corner of the couch.

Edward says they should get him out and clips a leash to his collar.

Before they take off Edward slips away into the kitchen, past the table and the counter to where Bella can no longer see him.

"Don't bite, Biter," she says to the puppy. He's too cute so she bends to scratch him. This time she gets away with it. His ears are the softest. She wants to press her lips to them but she's afraid she'll get bit.

"Here," Edward says, tossing her a paper-wrapped deli-made sandwich.

"How'd you know I would be here today?" Bella herself didn't know until thirty minutes before she knocked at his door.

"Didn't." He wraps the end of the leash around his wrist and heads for the back slider, his puppy following.

"You got it just in case?"

"No." Edward slides the door open and steps out onto the deck. "I got two for me."' His quiet laugh makes Bella laugh.

It's strangely sunny for a late-September day. Bella hopes this means she'll be able to see the stars from her window tonight. She loves the rare nights when she can fall asleep counting stars after she puts her book down and shuts off her light.

Munching on their sandwiches, they stroll in the opposite direction of their normal route. Sometimes bits of lettuce fall from one or the other's sandwich and Biter eats them up if he can find them.

Looking at Edward, the stubble along his jaw, Bella can guess that this is about three days worth of beard growth. Within two days it'll be gone and the cycle will start over. It makes her smile that she knows this about someone. About Edward.

They're walking so close that every so often she can hear his phone vibrating in his back pocket. He ignores it every time.

Unsure what to do with the paper from her sandwich, she stuffs it into her jacket pocket, then she takes Edward's and crumples it into her other one.

With the heat of the sun on her back and the tingling of perspiration under her clothes, Bella takes the opportunity to feel the water. Socks stuffed in her sneakers and her jeans rolled up, she steps into the lake just far enough to get wet from her toes to her ankles. She didn't realize until the cold water touched her that she hadn't stepped foot in the lake all summer. She wishes she had, even once.

Falling into step beside Edward, pebbles dig into her feet making her walk too slow. Edward and the puppy wait as she slips her socks and shoes back on.

She ignores the annoying grains of sand in her socks as they continue up a hill toward what used to be forest. A canopy of trees would be over their heads right now. Green lushness, not black emptiness. Edward stops at the remains of the Lakeview Restaurant.

"I heard they started it. For the insurance money. Nobody can prove it."

"Maybe they wanted an actual lake view."

They walk a little farther up the hill until the puppy is so tired he keeps stopping to lie down. He has to be carried home.

The wind picks up, clouds cover the sun, and feeling more than a chill, Bella zips up her jacket. She can't help but be disappointed that the stars won't shine tonight after all. She can't help but worry about what Rose has gotten herself into and how it's clear this is something she's not intending to get herself out of. She wants to say something to Edward, tell him to look out for his sister, but after learning about Angela, Bella understands why Rose hasn't opened up to her brother.

It was the last week of July, nearly two months since Bella had last seen Rose, when she showed up, near tears, on Bella's doorstep.

"I don't know where you've been, but I need my friend back."

Without question, Bella pulled Rose into her arms and hugged her, and then led her to her room. "I messed up," she said as soon as the door thumped shut. "Bad. So bad, Bella."

"What did you do?"

"I slept with him."

"Royce?"

"Emmett." Tears dripped from her eyes then.

"Who's Emmett?"

"From Seattle. My brother's friend. I'm going to lose Royce."

Bella had trouble looking at Rose. She paced toward her window. A part of her was sure she either misheard or misunderstood Rose. She took a deep breath.

"Are you going to tell him?"

The pause was long enough to get Bella to turn around and face Rose, who was shaking her head, her ponytail swishing. "I have to, don't I? He has a right to know who he's with. But what's he going to do? He won't forgive me. I haven't even done that with him yet. And so he hasn't-" tears flow out, her voice breaking "-he hasn't done it either."

"Oh, God, Rose." Bella swallowed. Any confusion evaporated and was replaced with regret. She could feel Rose's regret as if it were her own. She hugged her the same way she had downstairs. "Why did you?"

"I don't know."

"You have to know."

They sat on the bed facing each other and it took Rose a solid ten minutes to be able to speak calmly. "Royce and I had a fight before I left to help my parents move Edward back. Our parents were staying at a hotel, but Edward said I could stay with him and Angela. There was a party that night. And, I don't know, Emmett was there, and I'd met him before. He was the only one I knew so I stuck by him, and he was nice as always. He took me to his room and we just started kissing, and I stopped thinking. That's it. I just stopped thinking."

"You had to have been thinking," Bella said, only she knew that as logical as that sounded, it wasn't true. She knew exactly how a person could stop thinking—at least, stop thinking about the right thing.

But now Rose's problem has escalated. As far as Bella's concerned, it's no longer about how to hold onto Royce, but how to get rid of him.

Thelonious—Biter is still asleep in Edward's arms by the time they're wiping the sand and dirt off the soles of their shoes. Toe to heel, one after the other, Bella inches out of hers.

She takes the puppy from Edward and sits him on her lap, petting him as he sleeps.

"Do you think people have souls?" she asks without looking at Edward. "Like when they die, do you think souls live on?"

"Who died?" He sits beside her on the couch, stroking the dog with her. They take turns. He pets then she pets.

"Nobody. It just seems-" she pauses her petting "-impossible. But I can't imagine disappearing forever either."

"I think that means you believe in souls."

She shrugs. "Maybe some people have souls, but others, there's no way. How could they?"

"So you think it's selective? Is that what you believe or is that what you _want_ to believe?"

Bella doesn't answer. They're both silent and Edward removes his hand from the dog, sitting back against the couch, kind of abruptly. When she looks at him his eyes are closed.

"What?" she asks.

"Hang on. Hang on, hang on..." He shoots to his feet and out of the room. She hears a door open.

Setting the sleeping puppy aside on the couch, Bella gets up to follow Edward. He's in his room, straddling the piano bench, bent over papers, scribbling away. She didn't even know he had a piano in his room. She's never been in here before. The piano looks like an old one and it's painted red. On the wall above it is a black and white poster of a black man wearing a hat playing a grand piano. She guesses he's Thelonious Monk.

"What are you-"

"Shh," he waves his hand, taps out a few high keys on the piano, writes them down. Hits a few low keys, writes again.

She can see his phone, tossed aside on the bed, light up with a call. She takes a few steps closer to it, Angela's smiling face coming into view.

She steps back, leaning against the door jamb, hands crossed behind her.

Finally Edward turns and looks up at her. "Listen." He sets his sheet music on the piano and plays what he wrote, low and dismal. "What does that sound like?" he asks over his shoulder. Bella sits next to him on the bench.

"Sad. Like despair or hopelessness."

"Good. Now listen to this."

The tempo picks up, keys in the higher octave.

"What is this?" he asks.

"I don't know."

"Listen." He plays the whole thing again, low and slow, two strong chords, and then high and fast. Low and slow, two strong chords, and then high and fast.

He plays it again. The two strong chords. "Someone dies," he says. Low and slow. "No soul." Two strong chords. "Death." High and fast. "A soul lives on."

"You composed our conversation?"

He shakes his head, stops playing. He looks at her. "I composed your thoughts."

He plays it again.

"My soundtrack?" She laughs.

"Your score." He doesn't laugh. He's serious, and she feels it in her chest. Tight. She's touched.

His fingers stop. His face close to hers, he shakes his head slightly, his eyes watery, greener than ever. He looks on the verge of tears, and it's like she's seeing much more than just his eyes. She's seeing something deeper, intrinsic. She's seeing _him_, and she better understands what he meant when he said he was only one thing. "It's been two months." He shakes his head again. "I thought... But this..." He starts playing again. "It's back."


	12. Shower

**Word Prompt:** _Shower_

**Plot Generator—Phrase Catch**: _Back to normal_

* * *

**Something True**

**Shower **

* * *

_**Last Winter**_

* * *

Her mom seemed to be carrying herself with a new air ever since Bella started showing a willingness to hang out with her. Her face looked brighter, her eyes more awake, and her posture straighter. All this, Bella noticed, when they simply went to lunch. On the day Bella asked her mom to take her to the store for new tights, her mother positively beamed.

She insisted that Bella get some shoes to go with the tights.

Bella didn't think too closely about why she purchased more tights when out shopping with her mom, or why she saved her best-fitting dresses for Mondays and Fridays. She knew why she was doing it, but she didn't like dwelling on it. It was the same reason she both loved and despised Fridays. Fridays meant an afternoon that could sometimes stretch into evening in Mr. Biers' classroom. But Fridays also meant two whole days until Monday came around.

Bella found herself stopping in the girls' room to touch up her lipstick between the last school bell and ten after three when she met with Mr. Biers.

"Light showers all afternoon, I hear," Mr. Biers said, coming away from the window when Bella stepped into his classroom. He moved to help her out of her coat and hang it up. Bella didn't know that he would be repeating this action an hour later. Or that the second time he did it, her heart rate would increase by double.

"Do you think you'll need a ride today?"

"If that's okay," she said, taking a red pen from her backpack and a seat at her desk.

They set to work grading papers, Mr. Biers turning a desk around to face Bella, his feet up on the chair in front of him. Bella thought this might be the only time he relaxed at school, and there she sat, anything but relaxed.

She peered up at him. He was loosening his tie and undoing his top two buttons. He caught her gaze and they smiled at one another before both dropping their eyes to paper.

They shared his umbrella on their way to his car. Bella listened to the sound of the rain drumming overhead. It was all she could hear.

In the car she sat silently, her hands tucked flat under her thighs.

"I've got some essays I'd love help with editing before Monday. But I hate to give you homework as an assistant."

"It's okay. I like it." And she did like it. It made her feel like she was doing something meaningful, something more than just being a student.

"They're at my house, a few blocks down. Do you mind? I won't be a minute."

"Go ahead," she said, looking out the window, folding her smile into her mouth.

"You sure?"

She turned to him. "Yeah."

Minutes later he swerved into his driveway. "Come on in," he said.

He unlocked his front door, swung it open, and let Bella walk into the dim room first. From behind, his hands came to her shoulders. Her heart sped. Her breathing stopped. He slid her coat down her arms and hung it from its hood on a brass coat stand. It was so full he had to double hers up over one of his own coats.

She was left with goosebumps. "Cold in here," Bella said, rubbing her arms.

A familiar feeling wafted over her. It reminded Bella of when she was ten and would go with her mother to her client's house—only instead of feeling anxious in a repulsed way, she felt anxious in an excited way. Though it was more like the lacings of excitement, cloudy not concrete, and on the outskirts of her self. It was similar to using a flashlight in place of a room lamp in the dead of night. You could understand some of your surroundings some of the time, but you weren't quite positive what lurked in the shadows, in the corners.

"I'll just be a second." He left her in the living room.

His house was smaller than her parents', and it only looked partially lived in, or perhaps as if Mr. Biers only intended it as a temporary home. There was a mess of papers, open books, and used coffee cups on the carpet in front of the sofa where a table might normally sit. His bookshelves were made of stacked cinder blocks and raw, unsanded plywood.

Bella ran her finger along the spines of his hardcover books. He had so many. Five bookshelves full in this room alone.

Along the wall behind the sofa was a big, dark fish tank. The water looked murky. She could barely spot the two Betta fish swimming around in it.

"Your fish tank is dirty," she called.

"Thanks." Mr. Biers was a foot behind her, holding a stack of papers in front of him. "Ready?"

Next to the sofa, under a table lamp was a framed picture of a woman. Bella picked it up. Red, curly hair that fell almost to her elbows, freckles, and a nice, friendly looking smile that brought her eyes to a squint. "Your wife?"

"Someone else's come March. She invited me to the wedding." He chuckled, taking the frame from Bella and putting it back on the table. "Don't know why I still have this. She didn't take it with her, and I guess I didn't take it down."

"She's pretty," Bella said. "Is she a teacher, too?"

"A librarian."

"In Forks?"

"Port Angeles. Makes good money. Better than a teacher's salary, I can tell you." He handed her the papers and then brought her coat to her. She alternated the papers in her arms as she slipped into her sleeves.

"Just edit," he said. "And then if you can order them by which ones are the strongest to which ones need the most work, that would be great."

"Are you sure I can-"

"I wouldn't ask you to do it if I didn't trust you."

Following him to the door, she held the papers tight to her chest.

Home in her room, she pored over the essays right away, finishing as many as she could before Alice's sleepover.

After midnight, as the other girls talked about and dreamed about teenage boys, Bella thought about and dreamed about a man. Of course, she could never tell anyone what she was thinking, but she was used to keeping secrets. She was an expert at not only keeping them from leaving her lips, but she had also perfected the art of keeping them from showing in her face.

The next day she would ask her mom to take her to the Port Angeles library. She needed to do research for her contest entry. It wasn't a lie, she told herself. Not exactly.

**...**

In her mind, Bella had built up the library to be beautiful. Gleaming cherry walls; antique tables and desks with gold-lit lamps; ladders that rolled along walls of books to reach the ones on the highest shelves. In reality the building was ordinary looking with bright fluorescent lighting. The floor was just like her school's cafeteria tile. If she reached up, she could touch the top of every shelf. The beige checkout desk reminded her of a discount store.

But behind the checkout, she recognized the woman from the picture immediately. It wasn't hard with hair as long, curly, and red as hers. When she got close enough, Bella noted that according to the badge on her shoulder, her name was Victoria.

"Never mind," she told her mom. "She looks busy. I'll find what I'm looking for myself."

She led her mom to the computers, typed in a search for her topic on the value of higher education, jotted down some titles and numbers with a half-pencil, and sent her mom off in a search. Bella, following Victoria as she swished by in her skirt, went on a search of her own.

Under the flickering light in the poetry section, Bella pretended to look for a book as she listened to Victoria and the electrician discuss faulty wiring. Bella knew it wouldn't happen, but she wished Victoria would mention Riley Biers. There was no way in a hundred years that Bella would ask her about him.

Victoria's voice did not match her face. She spoke in a higher pitch than expected, young sounding. If Bella were to close her eyes and just listen, the woman would sound like a teenager, like one of Bella's friends. When that thought churned her stomach, Bella realized that she had come all this way not only to get a look at her, but to find a reason to dislike her.

Her mother came looking for her, handed over the books, and Bella filled out a form so she could check them out. It was Victoria, with a smile too sweet and hair too shiny, who scanned the books. Bella tailed her mother out of the library with two books she didn't really need and no reason at all not to like the woman. She shook her head at herself wondering why she would wish for something like that in the first place.

On the way home, as she looked out the window, unexpected and inexplicably, her throat clenched up and her eyes welled with tears.

Why, she asked herself, had she gone there at all? And why do people do things that they can't explain, even to themselves?

Beside her, her mother was humming to the radio.


	13. Charity

Word Prompt:_ Charity_

Plot Generator—Idea Completion: _Familiarity breeds contempt_

* * *

**Something True**

**Charity**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

"Where are you off to this morning?" Bella's dad asks over the noise of his electric screwdriver. He's on a stepladder, screwing a kitchen cabinet door back into place.

Her mother refinished the wood yesterday. It made Bella roll her eyes when she saw her mother, gloves on her hands, stripping the cabinets of paint. _Still trying to clean up every surface of your life?_ she wanted to say.

"Rose's cottage." Avoiding eye contact, she slips past her dad to snatch a water bottle from the fridge.

"Her brother's living there now, isn't he?" Shutting the screwdriver off, he steps down to the floor. Bella recognizes his police chief face. He's caught her in a white lie and is afraid it's more. The raised eyebrow shows he's determined to find out.

"You know about that?"

"You should know there isn't much gets past me in this town."

Bella wishes that were truer than it is. She could say right here, right now, _There are some things that get past you right under your own roof._

"Okay, fine. I'm going to Edward's. But Rose will be there." It's the truth, and knowing he's looking for it, she holds her dad's gaze. Lately, with Bella's persuasion, Rose has been coming around the cottage again.

Her dad points his screwdriver at her, one eye closing slightly in a show of distrust. "You watch out for yourself. He's a lot older than you."

"Not that much. Only three years."

"May not seem like much, but there's a big difference between eighteen and twenty-one when you take experience into account."

Bella simultaneously wants to hit and hug her dad. She wants to tell him she knows a lot more than he thinks she does. She wants to tell him everything—about her mother, about herself.

"Dad," she says, but her throat swells and she stops.

"Don't tell me not to worry." He drops a hand to her shoulder and squeezes. "I'll worry about you until I take my last breath, probably after."

"Edward's good. Okay?"

"For his sake, he'd better be."

…

Before knocking on the door, Bella bends down scanning Edward's little tree, its near-leafless limbs looking sadder than ever, especially the lower ones where Biter has taken to chewing whenever he finds the opportunity.

She rubs one of the chewed on branches. "You'll be okay, little buddy," she tells it. The wind sweeps by and another leaf falls off, but that's normal, she tells herself. It's Fall.

Inside, the furniture that is usually along the back wall beside the sliding glass door has been centered in the room again. Plastic sheets are laid out behind the couch, small cans of paint in an array of colors, and different sized paint brushes all lined up on the floor.

Edward says they're decorating that wall, painting whatever they want. Rose has already started with a pink heart. She smiles at Edward as if she painted it just to get on his nerves. It doesn't seem to faze him. Biter is closed up in Edward's bedroom for the time being.

"I'm not an artist," Bella says.

"Neither are we." Edward picks up a brush, dipping it in red.

Rose tells him to speak for himself as she adds black wings to her heart.

"Nice," Edward says. One word inflated with sarcasm. Maybe it does faze him.

Bella starts painting her forearm and hand brown. The paint is cold and the paintbrush tickles.

"The idea is," Edward says, "to paint the wall." He taps it. "Not ourselves."

"I am painting the wall." She stamps her arm and splayed handprint on the wall and then uses green-dipped fingertips to make little leaf shapes on the finger branches. "A tree," she says. It was something Mrs. Cameron taught her when Bella had painted a gift for her parents.

"Genius," Rose says. "My heart sucks."

Edward tells her she can always cover it up with the white paint and start over.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

In the kitchen, Bella washes the paint off her skin as best she can. Some residue is left behind that she decides will just have to wear off in time. Her arm is getting red and sensitive from all the rubbing.

They break for lunch, chatting over cold, leftover pizza at the kitchen table. It is then that Bella decides she's done with little kid stuff. Edward hands her a pencil from a drawer so she can try to sketch something first before painting.

Between glances out at the lake beyond the glass doors and the blank patch of wall she's chosen, she sketches out the scene. She spends so much time trying to perfect her drawing that both Edward and Rose have grown bored of painting. Rose is on the couch flipping through a magazine while Edward's in his room with Biter playing the piano.

As she draws the lamp post, the dock, the boat, and the beginning of the lake, she listens to her score. Edward has added to it, making it more complex, but the meaning behind it is still recognizable. In fact, she feels its message more-so as she listens. It isn't really about who has souls and who doesn't, but who has wronged her or wronged someone she loves, and who has given her, if not happiness, at least a sense of calm. Those who have shown her sensitivity and loyalty. It is much more her score than Edward may realize.

The music stops, as does Bella's drawing. She steps back to take a look. It's still not exactly what she had in mind, but she's tired of erasing the same detail and starting again.

"Thought you said you weren't an artist," Edward says from behind her.

"I'm not."

"Looks like it to me."

Bella tilts her head at her drawing, checking it out from a different angle. She turns to Rose who has dropped her magazine aside and is moving to join them.

"Wow, Bella," she says. "That's so good."

Bella smiles. She's proud of it. She finds herself thinking she'd like to show her dad. "I don't want to paint it. I'll ruin it."

"Don't paint it, then," Edward says. "Leave it how it is." He clips Biter's leash on. Bella bends to greet the puppy, trying to strategically pet his head so she doesn't get bitten. It isn't an easy maneuver. He's bigger, growing fast.

"Gotta get him out. You two coming?"

_Bittersweet Symphony_ plays as the three of them are exiting through the back door. Rose takes her phone from her little purse. "I'll catch up."

Edward and Bella cross the small deck and head down the few steps, past planted shrubs and native plants to the pebbly shore. Clouds drift overhead blanketing their corner of the world in shadow.

"Why do you keep saying you aren't an artist?" Edward asks.

"I'm not. I mean, I've never tried to draw anything real before." She zips up her jacket, the cool breeze lifting hair from her face.

"Maybe you could be. You should try."

"It's probably a fluke. I was really concentrating. In a zone." She takes the leash from him. Biter must feel the slack in it or some difference, anyway. He starts pulling like he's in control. Bella tugs him back, doubling up the leash on her hand. "It was just my drawing and your piano. It was like I wasn't even really there."

"That's how I get when I'm composing. In a zone. Everything else disappears except for sounds in my head."

"Music," she says.

"Sort of. Music parts."

"Music bones."

He pauses his step and says through a smile, "Yeah. That's it exactly."

The first few raindrops land on their heads, their noses. Without acknowledging it aloud, they turn to head back. Neither pick up their pace, even when the drops get bigger and start to come down harder.

"You don't care about the rain? Rosalie would be racing back."

Bella stops walking and Edward faces her. "I used to. I used to hate it."

"What changed?"

"Me."

He stares at her, raindrops dripping from his hair, down his face and off his chin. His eyes narrow. His head tilts. His wet mouth falls open and then closes. He wants to ask, she can tell.

His lips part again. "The rain's running all over you." It's quiet.

Raising her head, face to the clouds, she opens her mouth to drink the rain. "Not anymore."

"Yes, it is." He laughs and touches her throat, his finger following a drop down to her collar bone. Goosebumps bud along her arms under her jacket.

"Well, you, too," she says, blinking rain from her eyes, touching his throat in return. She watches him swallow and then hides her eyes from him, looking down.

Edward swings his arm around Bella's neck, pulling her to his chest. He gives her a little shake in a friendly way then almost releases her. She catches his hand before he lets go, holding it there over her shoulder, tucking herself into his side and under his arm. His jacket is damp against her cheek.

She likes it here. It's been a long time since she has liked being anywhere as much as she likes where she is right now, by the lake, under the bruised sky, Edward's arm around her, puppy at their feet, the rain coming down.

For a little while, before they get to the cottage, and even for a bit after, she feels like life is offering her some charity, a pat on the back, an "everything will be all right" promise.

At the back door, Edward asks Bella to get him a towel so he can dry Thelonious off. Like the hair on Edward's head, the puppy's fur has been soaked flat. When she hands him the towel and he starts rubbing the dog down, the puppy turns his neck, his mouth going for Edward's hand.

"Biter," Edward says, shaking his head. Bella laughs.

They walk inside. Rose is on the couch. Bella catches her wiping her cheeks dry. Guilt eats at her her for failing to notice her friend when she ran in for a towel.

"What? she asks, going over and sitting next to Rose.

"Nothing."

"Something." Bella glances at Edward who, holding his puppy wrapped in a towel, is watching.

"You don't want to know."

"Royce?"

"What now?" Edward asks, putting the puppy down. Biter shakes, making his fur stand on end. Then there's the sound of tapping paws as he wanders over the wood floor.

"Nothing, nothing. Stop, Edward. You don't know."

"Tell me what I don't know, Rosalie, before I hunt him down and make_ him _tell me."

Looking at Edward, Bella can tell he can make good on that threat. Edward is both taller and broader muscled than Royce. Maybe she's wrong, though. Maybe if a person is angry enough or pushed past a limit, none of that size stuff matters.

Edward grabs the end of the leash before Biter gets too far, too close to the paint cans.

Just as Bella doubts Rose will tell, she does. Her gaze landing on different parts of the room, but never on Edward, she spills it all.

"I'm sorry," she says to Edward. His eyes are wide, his eyebrows raised.

"Emmett? What the fuck?" His hand goes to his hair. "He knows you're in high school."

"So."

"And my sister." Then, under his breath, almost in a mumble, he says, "I'm gonna kill him."

"It's not his fault. It was both of us. And Royce wanting to kill him is enough, don't you think?"

"He took you back." Edward says it like it's just occurring to him.

"Thank God," Rosalie says. "It was the biggest mistake I've ever made. I can't forgive me, but if he... I mean, if he could just believe me when I tell him I love him, that would be..."

Bella puts her arm around Rose, who leans into her. "You have to let it go."

"How?"

Bella glances at Edward for help. She doesn't know how to answer that. He's still watching them and it looks like his mind is racing. She wonders how much this is affecting him considering what he's been through.

Bella strokes her friend's hair. "You cheated on him, you apologized, he accepted that, now it's your turn to accept it. You're more than that, you know? You're more than the girl who cheated on Royce. A lot more. You know it, too. You do. So think about everything else you are until it takes over. Push the cheating stuff out. Squash it. It's over. Dead."

Bella imagines that her words are sinking into Rose's mind. She imagines them working their way through her like a hypnotist's words might.

"He says he forgives me, but he doesn't believe that I love him. He says I have to prove it. I don't know how to do that. I've tried. Every day I try." Bella can hear the tears in her voice. Rosalie sniffles, her shoulder shaking against Bella.

Edward leaves the room, Biter shadowing him. Bella remains on the couch with her arm around Rose, neither saying anything.

The sound of piano keys drift from Edward's room, and then pause. More keys and then a pause. He's composing.

Rose pushes away from Bella, sitting up. "You're all wet."

"Should we paint some more?" Bella asks, moving aside hair that has stuck to her cheeks.

They paint to the slow, low tune of Edward's new song. Leaving her drawing like it is, Bella begins a new painting.

As she and Rose are getting ready to leave, Edward comes out of his room with a big black portfolio of drawing supplies. "Paper, a bunch of pencils, gum erasers, I think some charcoal. I took a drawing class. No longer need any of it. You can have it." He hands it to her. "Try."

"Thanks." She tucks it under her arm.

Edward's phone vibrates. Slipping it from his pocket, he looks at it. Bella can see Angela's face. He stares through a few more vibrations before tapping something and bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey," he says, and it's soft. He wanders off into his room. Bella wonders how long he'll be, if she should wait to say goodbye.

She feels dumb just waiting by the door so she peeks into his room, raising her hand in a wave. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, still on the phone.

"See ya," he mouths.

"Thanks for the supplies," she whispers, lifting the portfolio, aware that she's already thanked him.

He nods, getting up off his bed. He puts his hand on the edge of the door. "See you next time," he whispers. He closes his door before she has even fully turned herself away.

Frayed threads inside of her tear. But she's used to it. She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and mends herself up.

"I'll drive you," Rose says.

Walking out into the rain, Bella waves her off.

Rose runs to catch up, takes Bella's hand, and pulls her to the car. Rose spends the night, sleeping with Bella in her bed, both of them seeming to be lost in her own head. Until, warm and dry under the covers, Bella turns toward Rose and asks in a hushed voice, "Was Emmett Edward's roommate?"

"No. Why? Oh, because..." Even in the dark, Bella can see Rose's eyes grow wider. "No. _No._ That was Marcus."

"How long were Edward and Angela together?"

"Two years. A little more."

"Do you like her?"

Rose rolls to her back. "No." She turns all the way over, facing the wall instead of Bella. Her voice is flat. "Not anymore."

Bella picks up some of Rose's hair, running her fingers through the ends. "I'm sorry I asked."

Playing with Rose's hair, Bella remembers what she said to Edward about changing. She has heard people say that people can't change unless they want to. But she knows what a lie that is. She never wanted to change, never asked for it, yet she did change. She would bet all of the good memories she holds that Rose feels the exact same way.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you for continuing to read. I appreciate your eyes, your thoughts, and your comments.

This story is up for Fic of the Week at the Lemonade stand. You can find other great stories there if you feel like checking it out at tehlemonadestand dot net (the url does begin with "teh" not "the." That isn't a typo.)

See you tomorrow!


	14. Curse

Word Prompts: _Purse, nurse, curse_

Choose one word and write what your imagination dictates. For an added challenge, include all three words in your entry.

* * *

**Something True**

**Curse**

* * *

_**Last Winter**_

* * *

Mr. Biers seemed to move in slow motion as he helped Bella out of her coat, his fingertips brushing the base of her neck.

She swallowed and cleared her throat.

"You have all the essays by now, don't you?" She turned to face him, resting a hand on his desk.

"I do."

"Let me read Tanya's."

Mr. Biers laughed. Bella watched the way he threw his head back and chuckled up to the ceiling. The way his smile was so wide and his eyes slits, almost closed. She saw the stubble under his chin along his throat.

"That would be cheating." His grin was still there as he spoke. "I'm supposed to be teaching you _not_ to cheat."

"It's not really cheating. My paper's already done and turned in. But I'll know if I read hers if I even have a chance for first place."

"Aside from the fact that you know I can't do that, her essay isn't here. It's in a file at my house. I hand them in to the department on Monday."

Bella tried to come up with a way for him to invite her to his house, but she couldn't think of anything aside from:_ Let's go there. Show me your file of essays._

She said nothing, taking her regular seat, waiting for him to give her a job to do.

"Midterms coming up," he said. "Things are going to get busy for us in a couple of weeks. But I don't have anything for you right now. You can have the day off." He turned a desk around to face Bella and sat back in it. There went his tie, and then the top two buttons of his shirt. Bella tried not to look at the triangle of chest she could see.

"How are things with your mom and dad?" he asked.

"Better," Bella said, and she meant it. For the first time since she was nine years old she felt like she had her mom back.

Mr. Biers took her hand and squeezed the backs of her fingers. He had done that before, and last time she'd left her hand limp. This time she squeezed his fingers back and held his hand there on the desk. His hand was warm and a little sweaty.

They held eye contact. The edge of his smile quirked up.

A chill ran through her and her heart sped as she remembered him helping her out of her coat when she first arrived, fingers wisping her neck.

With one more squeeze, he let go of her hand and she shivered.

"You let me know if there's ever anything I can do."

_Take me to your house_, she wanted to say. She just wanted to be alone with him again for a little while, not at school.

"Are you going to your ex-wife's wedding?" she asked, moving her own hands palm to palm, surprised she could get her voice to work.

"Haven't decided one way or the other yet. It would be good to keep things amicable, I suppose, if that's what she's after. But at the same time, sitting there, witnessing her repeat vows she made to me—whew." He let out a breath, looked down at the desk, and raised his eyebrows. "Not sure I can handle that."

With no rain, and no excuse for Mr. Biers to drive her home, he simply walked her to the door when it was time to go.

"Just a second there," he said, moving to his desk, scribbling something on the corner of a sheet of paper, tearing it off.

He put it in Bella's hand.

"I realize this may seem inappropriate, and if you're uncomfortable in any way, throw it out, but just in case you ever need anything." He put the piece of paper in Bella's hand. "Call."

It was his phone number. She walked home with it tight in her fist. Stopping at her fallen tree, she entered the number into her phone under Riley.

What did this mean? she wondered. Did he really mean for her to call only if she needed something, or did he _want_ her to call him? She could tell by the way his voice got quiet with concern, and the expressions on his face—folded brows, or slight smiles—that he cared about her. But what was she really meant to do with his phone number?

She sat on her log feeling a warmth run through her blood as she thought about him, pictured his face, his blue eyes and the neckties that matched, the stubble along his jaw he could never seem to get a close enough shave to make disappear. She closed her eyes, letting the images heat her from the inside out. Brisk wind or not, she could have removed her coat and still felt as if she were wrapped in a thick blanket.

...

Bella had pillows, cushions, and blankets laid out all over her bedroom floor for sleepover night. All five girls were gathered on Bella's bed, different conversations going on among them until something Alice said gained everyone's attention.

"Did you hear, Bella? You're having some sordid affair with Mr. Biers." Alice laughed.

"Who said that?" Lauren asked.

"You know, one of those jealous ass bitches. Heidi or fucking Jane. Don't you worry." She patted Bella's head. "I set them straight."

"How?" Bella asked.

"I said, who in their right mind wouldn't? That man is hot!"

Bella shook her head at her.

"What? They agreed with me, I'll have you know. And it's true. I mean, have you _seen_ the way he twists his tie back and forth when he's giving a lecture?" She fanned her face and fell to her back horizontally across the bed. She sat up just as fast taking Bella's hand. "You should have seen the jealousy dripping from those girls that day of the blind faith project when Mr. Biers was your partner. I bet they're _still_ talking about it."

Bella was the last to fall asleep that night. She never liked being the last to fall asleep. It always seemed to make sleeping that much harder. Beside her, Rose was breathing deep. On the floor, Jessica was snoring, no doubt exhausted after sneaking out to meet Mike.

It was not yet March and the night sky was clear enough to see stars. She started counting them, hoping it would help her sleep, but she could only spot twelve. She began to connect them, making constellations of her own.

With her finger in the air as she drew a new shape, she spotted a shooting star.

"Rose, Rose." She poked Rose's shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"A shooting star. Look." But of course it was gone by then.

"Make a wish," Rose said with her lazy voice, not even opening an eye.

...

In the morning her mom made the girls chocolate chip pancakes with whip cream for breakfast. She told them stories of her own sleepovers and how she used to sneak out and smoke with her friends.

"Bad habit," she said, warning the girls, pointing her spatula at each one of them. "Hard to quit and then your voice gets as rubbery as your skin. Not only will you smell like a chimney, you'll look and sound like one, too."

"You'll _become _a chimney," Alice said. "Awesome." She hopped on the counter, toyed with a pair of sunglasses, and put them on.

"Not awesome." Bella's mom said, taking her glasses off Alice, folding them, and placing them back on the counter.

"Mommy Swan," Jessica said, batting her eyelashes. "If we promise not to smoke, can we have ice cream with breakfast?"

"Teenage girls are crazy," she said, but still, she got the box of Rocky Road out and handed Jessica the ice cream scoop.

After the girls left, Bella went back to bed and slept the day away. After hardly a wink of sleep the night before, she needed the shuteye. She only got up because she had to get ready for dinner with her mom. The sun was setting by the time she turned on the shower, and it was below the horizon by the time she pulled her dress overhead and her tights up her legs.

Coat on, purse over her shoulder, she went to her mom's room to tell her she was ready to go. The door was ajar, and she heard her mom's voice on the other side, though she knew her dad wasn't home. She pushed the door open a little more and could see her mom's reflection through the dresser mirror.

"...some friends spent the night," she was saying. "No, I can't tonight. I promised Bella I'd take her to dinner. She just started letting me do this stuff with her. She's maturing. I'm not cancelling. Not tomorrow, either. I told you, Charlie's home tomorrow."

Bella held her breath. It wasn't her dad, but maybe it was a girlfriend. Maybe it was Mrs. Brandon.

"I want to see you, too. You know that. But the timing has to be right."

If a person could swallow her heart, Bella just had. She pushed the door open all the way and stepped into the room, her arms folded across her chest.

"Mom," she said, and her mother's head snapped to her.

"It's-" She pointed at her phone. "It's-."

"Client Phil?" Bella raised her eyebrows.

The answer was all over her mother's crumpled face. Tears. Fake tears, Bella was sure.

Leaving her mother standing between her dresser and her bed, engulfed in her own guilt, Bella slammed down the stairs and out of the house.

She didn't call him first. She walked the six blocks to his house, wrapping the leather strap of her purse around and around her wrist where her coat ended. When it dug into her flesh, she continued wrapping it. It wasn't that she couldn't feel the pain, she could. It was that she wanted to feel it. It distracted her from the pain that was on the inside—the kind that can't be relieved by _un_wrapping a purse strap from your wrist and rubbing your skin.

...

"Bella?" Mr. Biers said when he answered his door, as if he had to confirm she was there.

"I was so stupid. She's still having an affair."

He pulled her inside. When he took her jacket off, she shivered. He hung it on his rack, along with her purse.

"My d-dad," she said, choking up into small sobs, shaking her head over and over as if there was enough power in that denial to change everything that was wrong with the world. "My poor dad." She covered her face.

Mr. Biers didn't take her hand, didn't squeeze her shoulder. He took her into his arms and held her head against his chest. "I'm sorry," he said. "I know this is difficult."

"I hate her."

"That's okay."

"It is?" She looked up at him, her sobs subsiding.

He pushed hair from her face, pulled some strands away from her lips. "It is. Because you don't hate her. You just hate what she's doing."

"You're wrong. I hate her." Tears fell again and she wiped them.

"Fuck, okay. You're right. I shouldn't try to placate you. Shit, I shouldn't curse in front of you either."

"I've heard curse words before," she said.

He took Bella to his sofa and had her sit down. He offered her a drink of water and when she declined, he insisted.

On his way back he stopped to turn on the heat. "Sorry, trying to save on electricity." She noticed he was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. She'd never seen him so casual.

"Drink," he said, handing her the icy glass, condensation wetting her fingers. She took a long gulp. She shivered again.

He sat down beside her. "Maybe I should've offered you tea. Except my not having any could pose a problem there."

Bella let out a small laugh and he smiled. He took her glass and set it on the floor between a pile of papers and a thick book.

"Thank you."

They looked at each other like he wasn't a teacher and she wasn't a student. It was something Bella knew they'd been doing for months, but she always ended up looking away. She didn't this time. And neither did he.

"I'm glad you came." He brushed her cheek with the back of a finger and her eyes fell closed.

"Why does she do this to people she's supposed to love?" Opening her eyes, they locked with his.

"I don't know if there's an answer to that question. She may not be able to answer it. _The human soul is an abyss." _Turned to face her, with his elbow up on the back of the sofa, his thumb caressed her temple._ "_It's impossible to understand the entirety of someone's nature."

His face was inches away. With her hands flat on the sofa, her shoulders turned toward his, she leaned in closer to him. Closer.

He didn't pull back.

She leaned so close that their lips touched. Her eyes closed.

He didn't pull back.

She pressed her lips against his and felt his pressing back, his lips moving against hers, his mouth opening. She gave in to it and so did he, and they were kissing.

Her hands were clutching the sofa. As their kiss continued, he picked up one of her hands holding her fingers lightly. She could have pulled away if she wanted to. She could have walked out the door and gone home. She didn't want to.

His other hand was on her knee, moving up her thigh, pushing at the hem of her dress, his lips sliding down to her neck.

She lifted her head and took a deep breath in as he kissed along her throat. She was warm all over again. Even with the chills racing up and down her arms, she was hot. She couldn't remember what it was like to be cold. She felt love inside her and she felt it more with every press of his lips against her. She didn't want that feeling to go away.

His stubble scraped against her skin and it didn't bother her. She wanted it.

"Bella." His lips left her, his touch left her, he sat back. Her eyes opened.

"What?" Now that she knew what it felt like to be in his arms. She wanted him to hug her again. She couldn't ask him for it though. She'd have to wait until he did it on his own.

"If we do this, nobody can know. I could lose my job, and you could... you have your reputation to consider. You have to think about this. We have to think about what we're doing here."

"I don't want to leave."

"That's not what I want." He shook his head. "I'm telling you to think about this. Here we are two people who obviously care for each other." He put his hand on her cheek. "But to anyone else, we are merely teacher and student. Getting involved with me necessitates complete secrecy. You're mature enough to understand the reasons. But you have to be mature enough to accept this or we really shouldn't continue."

She put her hand on top of his on her cheek. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

* * *

**A/N: **Please don't kill me. You had to have seen this coming in some shape or form, even if you hoped you were wrong. Yes?

Mr. Biers quoted poet Fernando Pessoa

Thank you for reading. Are you still with me? If not, thank you for taking this journey this far.


	15. Cycle

**A reminder that this story alternates between past and present. In the past, Bella is a junior. In the present, she's a senior. **

Word Prompt: _Cycle_

[evil] Scenario: _Write a piece using your favorite season as the central theme._

* * *

**Something True**

**Cycle**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

By morning, Bella's cyclonic insides unfurl into oppressive heat and humidity and a haze that disfigures the simplest views. It may be fall outside her window, but inside Bella is the weighty kind of summer that Forks never experiences. The kind that makes the air heavy and every breath labored.

Bella and Rose take showers, brush their teeth, and get dressed without a word exchanged. Even when Bella hands Rose a dress to borrow, she doesn't say a thing.

Bella shouldn't think anything of it. Silence is such a normal part of her everyday routine. But she knows that everything is off kilter, that the earth beneath her feet is threatening to scorch everyone she's close to.

While Rose is pulling the dress on, Bella is marking lines on her wall. She has some catching up to do, she realizes. She's skipped some days.

Bella is counting her tally marks and doing the math when Rose interrupts.

"I feel like I'm being torn in half by my best friend and my boyfriend."

Bella stands up, chalk in hand. "What do you mean?"

"What happened yesterday. On the phone. Royce says you're trying to break us up, and I didn't want to admit it to him, but I couldn't deny it could I? Because you are."

Bella places her chalk in her bedside drawer, pushing it to a smooth close. She hopes her answer to Rose will be as smooth. "I can see how he treats you, and how you let him treat you. Am I supposed to close my eyes and look away, Rose? I hate that. I've done enough of that and it's never turned out right. He's not good for you."

Bella already suspects that Rose won't listen to her. People don't tend to think that Bella knows enough, is experienced enough, to have any kind of truth important enough to share.

As Bella expects, Rose drops the subject, and just like all that heat, Bella feels the weight of it on her shoulders and her back.

Though the heart is in the center of your body, belonging only to you, it is not a self-centered thing. A heart can crack like a windshield, shatter in a thousand places, and not only for yourself, but for others, for people you know, sometimes for people you don't know. And while a windshield can be easily replaced, shiny and new, the heart can not. The cracks may repair overtime, but scabs and scars are left all over. If Bella were to draw the image of the heart from her perspective, it certainly wouldn't look like the pink thing with wings that Rose painted on Edward's wall. It would look much more like the literal heart, with blood and bumps and ridges—A-symmetric, uneven, and swollen.

Bella walks over to Rose and hugs her, speaking low into her hair, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to ignore this."

In her mind, Bella longs for that one cool breeze to cycle around that can clear up the haze.

...

Bella misses Edward, and she misses Biter. But this doesn't take her to his cottage. Not even when she's forced to breathe the same stifling air as her mother, or when she has to see her father treating her mother as a loved one should, does she escape to Edward's. Instead, she shuts herself in her room trying to draw.

She lays the large drawing pad out on her bed, lines the pencils up, experimenting with shading. She watches videos on the internet about composition. She's not good at people or portraits. The proportions of anatomy are too hard for her, she discovers. Landscapes are her thing. She sticks with those.

Wednesday after school, sweating over her drawing under a sun that couldn't possibly be in her room, she decides to get herself out. She walks along the ruins of her forest.

As always, she steps over the spirit of her fallen tree. She continues all the way to where the Lakeview Restaurant used to stand. Its leftover pieces have been piled aside, and the ground has been smoothed and flattened out. There are two bulldozers sitting off to the side. The restaurant owners must be getting ready to rebuild. She wonders how long it will take, if it will be ready by summer.

"Where have you been?" Edward's voice comes from behind her.

"Biter!" She runs over to him and starts roughing up his fur, petting his snout, conceding to the fact that she's going to get bit. His tail is whipping back and forth, he's jumping on his hind legs like crazy, and he seems to have learned not to bite so hard. He mouths her. "Good boy!" she says. She looks up at Edward, who's grinning. "He's gotten bigger. It hasn't even been two weeks. His paws are lighter." She lifts up a paw that has turned brown.

"You haven't been over."

"I didn't know if..." She stands up. "I wanted to give you time."

"Time for what?"

"Angela. Are you still talking?"

"She wants to be friends."

"Do you?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "I told her we could try."

The dog is still jumping around, straining against the leash to get closer to Bella. Edward tells him to sit, pointing a finger at his rear end, and Biter listens. Bella's eyes widen in amazement.

The dog sitting, panting at Edward's side, Bella and Edward look at each other.

"You want to come over?"

Bella nods and walks with them down the hill toward the lake, branches crackling under every step, the scent of wet earth around them. Biter is in the lead, knowing exactly where they're headed.

Bella tells Edward she's been drawing.

"Show me sometime," he says.

He tells her that Angela wants to come over. Not wanting to be alone with her, he's asked Rose to invite some friends on Saturday.

"You'll be there, won't you? I mean because I don't need _time_."

Edward throws an arm over her shoulder and her breathing pauses. She peers up at him. He's looking straight ahead. Bella doesn't like this ambiguous stuff. She doesn't like the haze that's continuing to thicken inside of her, how the feelings in her stomach call in part for her to remain under Edward's arm, and in part for her to twist away from him.

In the cottage, she takes off her jacket and attempts to explain how all week has felt like the hottest, ugliest summer. When she fails at articulating this, Edward nods and says, "I know what you mean."

"How?"

"I just do." He unclips Biter's leash and the puppy walks in a pant over to his water bowl. "I'll show you."

She follows him to his room where he straddles his bench and composes a melody. "This is what I saw in my head when you were talking about it." He plays it for her while she sits on his bed. Biter comes in and plops himself under the piano bench, his chin resting on his paws.

"And this is your 'love isn't real' sound." He plays something even more melancholy than the one before it. It's entirely new to Bella. She's not sure when he composed it.

Edward turns and points at her. "Muse," he says. "You have to start having happier thoughts before I become the most depressing composer in history."

Bella's eyes drop to her fingers playing with a loose thread on his quilt. "Compose your own thoughts then."

"Wait. I didn't mean..." He moves to sit with her on the bed. "What an _ass_hole." His hand meets his forehead. "Obviously not all your thoughts are depressing. Those are just the ones I compose. That says more about me than you, I think. I really didn't mean it like that."

"I know." She meets his gaze.

"How?" he grins.

"I just do. And I can't draw it for you. Sorry."

"Yet," he says.

Without thinking she rests her head on his shoulder. When she feels bone under her temple, she realizes what she's doing. She closes her eyes and stays where she is, pushing her thoughts out of her way. She likes it better when she doesn't think about every little thing, when she can simply be.

His hand comes up to the side of her head, his fingers treading into her hair. And with her eyes closed, it's like the breeze she's been waiting for. Not everything is clear, but in this moment, none of it seems to matter.

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for sticking with me. :)

Because my favorite season is summer, and these characters are not in such a happy place at the moment, I had to write about the worst aspects of summer. But summer to me is not about oppressive heat or blinding haze. It's about cooling off in lakes or oceans or swimming pools, water skiing, barbecues, eating breakfast outside, writing and reading in nature and under the sun, the scents of lavender and jasmine in the air. Sigh, one month away.


	16. Breakthrough

**NOTE: A reminder that this story alternates between past and present. In the past, Bella is a junior. In the present, she's a senior.**

Word Prompt: _Breakthrough_

Dialogue Flex:_ "Take a walk with me?"_

* * *

**Something True**

**Breakthrough**

* * *

_**Last Winter to Early Spring**_

* * *

Adjusting to addressing him as Riley instead of Mr. Biers took some getting used to. A few times, with a smile, he corrected her.

"Riley," he said, and she liked the way it sounded coming from him.

The more time she spent with him and the more she thought about him as Riley, the more natural it began to feel.

Just as Riley had said, things at school were becoming busy. Midterm papers and comprehension exams had to be graded and grades needed to be entered into the system.

The student journals had to be read through as well. Riley let his classes turn in their daily free-writing assignments by choice as extra credit.

The difference was, instead of working at school on Mondays and Fridays, the two of them worked at his house.

On the weekends, things had to remain the same, he'd told her.

Sleepovers as usual, it was. That weekend, Rose's parents were out of town, so even though it was technically Alice's night, the girls stayed at Rose's. The guys had talked her into throwing a party.

In the living room, they were playing old school hardcore rap so loud that even when Bella tried to plug her ears the beat vibrated through her body.

All her friends were paired off with their boyfriends, making out.

Wishing she were somewhere else, wishing she were with Riley, she went to Rose's room and played her records even though the bass from below was shaking the floor. Lying back on the bed, she closed her eyes and listened to the two different sounds fight each other.

The door burst open, muffled laughter following. Rose and Royce were kissing each other into the room. Bella sat up, waiting for them to notice her.

"Bella?" Rose said, her lipstick smeared. "Why are you up here all by yourself?"

Bella shut the record off. "No reason."

"Come downstairs with us."

"With us?" Royce asked.

"With us." Rose swooped one arm through Bella's and the other through Royce's, guiding them down the hall and down the stairs. The stairway was wide enough for all three of them to fit down side by side.

"If it's a guy you want," Royce said, "Pete is interested."

"Pete is always interested in everyone," Bella said, gripping the iron railing.

"But no one more than you."

She knew he was trying to get rid of her. Unlinking her arm from Rose's, she turned them around so they were heading back up the stairs. "You two go," she said. "I'm getting a drink."

In the kitchen, Bella grabbed a cup from the counter and went to the keg in the center of the room to fill it. A group of senior girls were hanging around the table. One of them, Jane, was lighting up a cigarette.

"She checks her hair and makeup every day after school," she said with the cigarette dangling from her mouth. "I've seen it in the bathroom." She pulled herself up to sit on top of the table.

"It's pathetic and so obvious," said Charlotte, as if Bella wasn't standing right there knowing she was the one they were talking about. Or maybe they wanted her to know.

"Yeah. Like, of all of us, he would go for her, right?" Heidi made eye contact with Bella. "She has the body of a twelve year old boy."

Bella downed her beer, went over to the girls, setting her empty cup on the table between Charlotte and Heidi. Facing Heidi, she said, "We can't all get what your daddy bought you." She looked pointedly at Heidi's chest. Bella didn't know if they were truly fake or not, but that was the rumor and she used it to her advantage. She turned and headed back up the stairs to one of the guest rooms.

She stood on the bed so she could see her whole body in the mirror above the dresser.

There was a deep throat-clearing behind her. Bella turned to see Pete, his blond hair a total mess. She jumped off the bed.

"You followed me?"

"Just for a second." He stumbled in, closing the door behind him. He was so drunk he could barely open his eyes. Maybe he was high, too.

"Look at me," Bella said.

"I am looking at you."

"What do you see?"

"Fucking hotness." He put his hand on her hip. She picked it up and took it off.

"Are you sure?"

"Damn straight, I'm sure." He seemed to strain to open his eyes wider, but it was really only his eyebrows that went up. "Every day I look at you I'm sure." He put both of his hands on her hips over her dress. "I like these right here." He twisted her back and forth. And then his lips came down toward hers.

She turned her face away and just hugged him instead. "No kissing."

"Why not? That's a dumbass rule." He hugged her back, sighing against her shoulder.

"Because we've known each other since third grade."

"We're not eight anymore if you haven't noticed. I've noticed."

"No kissing."

His sigh was heavier this time. "All right."

"Girls are bitches," she said under her breath, so quiet he may not have heard.

His arms were different, skinny. Being in them was a bit like being in the arms of a child, a boy.

...

At home, Bella's mother had been trying to talk to her, but Bella was giving her the silent treatment, turning her back to her whenever she could. There was nothing her mother could do about it, and Bella was sure that eventually she would give up trying.

She hadn't given up yet, though. One day Bella came home to find a note for her on her bed.

_My Bella_, it read. _There are some things you would give up anything for. I want you to know I have given it all up. My heart tears a little more every day knowing how I've hurt my own daughter..._

Without reading the rest, Bella crumpled it up and left it on her mother's side of the bed. She had no doubt her mother would find it before her dad did, but the fear would be imbedded in her mother. She would know what a threat Bella could be.

This made coming home later on the nights her dad was working that much easier. She didn't have to explain herself.

Getting home before her dad was all that mattered to Bella, and on some nights her dad didn't get home until four or five in the morning.

...

"I cleaned my fishtank," Riley said after removing her coat and switching on the heat.

She went over to it and watched the fish swimming in clear water among a rainbow of decorations. Next to the tank, on the table, she noticed the picture frame was gone, the one that held Victoria's picture.

Bella's grin couldn't be held back.

"What?" he asked.

Her eyes settled back on the fish tank. "It's pretty like this."

"You're pretty like this." He tugged at the end of her skirt and then drew his hand down her thigh to her knee. She turned to him and smiled.

He already had his tie off and his shirt unbuttoned.

Dropping his briefcase to the floor, he lifted her chin with a finger, and kissed her, backing her up to the sofa. The stubble of his beard scratched her, a sharp contrast to his soft kiss.

On the sofa, he took her arms and placed them around his neck, then his hands fell to her thighs and drifted up her body, his weight pushing her back against the sofa.

When his palms were at the side of her breasts, almost on her breasts, she pulled back and looked at him. His eyes opened, his breathing slowed. He seemed to be watching her face.

"You're not ready. It's okay."

Bella wasn't sure. She felt ready, like she wanted him to touch her there, but she was afraid he'd be disappointed in what he felt. She couldn't kid herself into believing she was anywhere close to the woman his ex-wife was. Not a woman with curves. Like the girls had said, did she really have the figure of a boy?

She couldn't bring herself to believe what Pete had said. He'd been drunk and he'd wanted to make out with her. He might've said anything.

She smoothed her skirt down her legs.

He turned her face toward his. "Really, it's okay. I'm not one of those boys you're used to. I can wait for you."

Something filled Bella, her lungs expanding with his care for her, her chest rising with the inhale of his words. He gave her one more kiss before lugging his briefcase over. "Before we start," he said. "Take a walk with me? It's getting hot in here."

They went out the back where they wouldn't be seen and trudged down the hill, through the massive trees. Bella had left her coat inside and when she shivered, Riley stepped behind her, rubbing her arms up and down, and then wrapping his around her. She leaned back against him and closed her eyes. She hadn't thought it was at all obvious how cold she felt, and here he was trying to warm her up.

"You make me feel cared about," she said.

"I'm glad."

"Do I make you feel cared about?'

She turned her head to look up at him. He bent to meet her lips with his. "You do." He kissed her again. "Very much." His voice was so deep and his arms so strong the way he held her that she felt incredibly safe, like there was a wall of stone around her nothing could break through.

A tingle leapt from her stomach to her chest. She was wrapped up in more than just arms.

She knew it.


	17. Champion

Word Prompt:_ Champion_

* * *

**Something True**

**Champion**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

At first it's just the four of them, Edward, Bella, Rose, and Royce. In the kitchen Rose is frying up donuts because when you're eighteen, and even twenty-one, donuts make perfect sense as dinner.

"Don't burn yourself," Royce says, looking over his shoulder, his back to the counter.

"I've done this before."

"And burned your hand before." Royce moves hair from her face and kisses her cheek.

"Careful," she says, pushing against him, pushing him away. "_You'll_ get burned."

They cover the donuts in cinnamon and sugar and stuff their stomachs full in the living room, licking their fingers clean.

Rose slides down from the chair she's sharing with Royce to sit between his legs. Biter, resting by Edward's feet, jumps up barking a low, quiet bark. Then another louder one. As small as he is, his bark is deep, powerful already.

The screen door is pulled open, revealing Angela. Biter runs toward her, barking wilder.

"Biter!" Bella says, standing up. "Come." The puppy turns to her, turns back to Angela. "Come," Bella repeats.

"Go to Bella," Edward says, pointing to her with a snap of his fingers, and the puppy does.

"Hiya, Biter." Angela moves to pet the puppy's head. Bella has a clear view of her necklace: the cursive word "Love" in gold."

Angela looks at Edward. "Biter? You said you always wanted a dog named Thelonious."

"He's Thelonious," Bella says. "I changed it to Biter because he bites me all the time." She sticks her hand in front of the puppy's nose and he mouths it. "See?"

"And that doesn't bother you?" she asks Edward.

Bella scoffs. "He calls him Biter too now."

Angela's eyes snap to Bella's in a glare as if to ask her how dare she answer for Edward.

"I-" Bella drops to the couch.

"Ange," Edward says. "Don't come in here acting like you still know everything about me. I don't care what she calls him. She's my muse. She can call _me_ whatever the hell she wants."

"Your muse?" She straightens up. "Are you serious?"

Eyes right on her, he says, "Dead."

"I thought-" Her fingers drift to her necklace, her hand shaking slightly. Looking at her eyes, Bella can see she's near tears. Angela walks toward the bathroom where she stops, her back to the group. Her hand is still at her chest like she's gripping the necklace.

Almost as if that necklace is a magnet for Edward, he exchanges a glance with Bella and then Rose, and with a loud sigh, he crosses the room to Angela. Biter shadows him.

Royce sways Rose between his legs. "For once it's not you and me, 'eh?"

Rose gets up and goes to the kitchen, returning with a beer for Bella and Royce.

"None for you?" Bella asks.

"Driving." She shrugs. Royce pulls Rose to his lap and kisses her neck. He seems more relaxed than Bella's seen him in a long time. She doesn't realize she's staring at him until his eyes connect with hers. She's uncomfortable with what she sees in them, the way they narrow at her.

The screen door creaks open again and a guy with short, dark hair and broad shoulders steps in. Bella is surprised he doesn't have to turn sideways to fit through the doorway.

"Hey, Rosalie." He smiles and Rosalie stands up fast.

"Who the hell else did you bring?" Edward asks Angela.

"How ya doing to you too, Bro," the big guy says, striding to Edward holding out a fist for a bump.

"Yeah," Edward says, "right."

Rose walks out the back door.

Royce turns to Bella. "What's up with her?"

Bella shrugs, and Royce goes after Rose.

The big guy offers a hand to Bella. "Emmett," he says.

For a split second the entire world comes to a screeching halt. Bella gathers herself together, clears her throat and shakes his hand. "Bella." She looks at Edward, catches his eye, and he shakes his head, appearing just as bewildered as Bella feels.

"Great party," Emmett says, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. "Looks like time for another smoke."

Thankfully he goes out the front door instead of the back.

...

What began as a few friends over, turns quickly into too many kids from school, including Alice and Jasper. Most people are on the back deck or down by the dock over where Rose and Royce seem to be having a heated conversation. Of all the things that could go wrong tonight, Bella finds herself praying that, if it hasn't already happened, Royce doesn't hear Emmett's name.

Reluctant to pull Edward away from Angela, Bella can't stop herself. Her insides may soon very well become her outsides. Eyes on the deck floor, she edges between bodies to the corner and taps Edward's shoulder.

"Can I hang out in your room?"

He frowns but doesn't hesitate. "Yeah, sure." With a hand on her back he walks with her.

Biter's already in there, hiding out under the piano bench.

_Smart dog_, Bella thinks.

She slips a book, any book, off his shelf and takes it to the bed where she backs herself up against the headboard.

"What do you want to stick back here for?"

"I just do."

"You sure?"

She smiles small and nods. She opens the book, pauses, and then lifts her face to Edward. "Did you say that to Angela about me being your muse to upset her?"

He closes his door and takes a few slow steps toward the bed. "You have a free pass. Use me someday to get back at whoever it was who hurt you."

Bella shakes her head. "That won't happen."

"I meant it, you know," Edward says. "You are my muse and you can call me or Biter whatever you want." Biter lifts his head and whines at the sound of his name then closes his eyes again.

"Worn out." Edward laughs."All that barking at strangers like a champion."

"Her necklace? It's from you?"

Edward sits on the bed. He doesn't say anything.

"You don't have to-"

"She didn't want me to move back. Begged me not to. Tears and everything. I said I'd visit and we'd be okay. Got her the necklace as a promise." He scoffs. "Guess it wasn't me who needed to make the promise."

Bella wants to touch him, put her hand on his arm, grip his wrist, anything. Instead she sits still, looking at him, listening.

"She has all these excuses. She was mad at me for leaving. Hurt. Not thinking straight. Needing to..." He stops and swallows, looking down at the bed. "Needing someone, I guess." He closes his eyes for a second or two, opens them, meets Bella's gaze.

"She doesn't just want to be friends with you, does she?"

He shakes his head. "So, um, you're sure you're staying in here?"

"I'm sure."

He takes his iPad off the top of his dresser and hands it over. "For music, if you want."

"Thanks." She takes it setting it beside her.

With his hand on the door handle he asks, "Open or closed?"

"Closed."

He keeps his eyes on her for a few seconds before closing the door.

...

It's Rose who gets Bella to come outside. She tells Bella not to let those people—people she doesn't give a shit about—run her life.

"Face them," she says. "I think it's the best thing you can do."

"Wait," Bella says, just before Rose opens the door. "Does Royce know Emmett's the one?"

"Not yet."

"But you said he wants to kill him."

"Yeah, _the guy_. I never told him his name. Why would I? It's not like he-" she pauses, brushing hair from her face "-knows him. But he'll probably figure it out eventually, and I don't know what he's going to do. I really hope he doesn't find out tonight."

"Are you afraid?"

Rose walks over to the dog and pets his head, pulls his ears through her fingers. Turning around, she sits on the piano bench. "Yes."

"For yourself or for Emmett?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but both."

Bella moves to Rose, sitting beside her on the bench. "And you don't think there's anything wrong with that? That you're afraid of him?"

"Yes, I do," she says. "But I need to get back out there to keep him away from Emmett."

On their way out, knowing she's going to need it, Bella stops for another beer. She takes a few swigs before letting Rose drag her outside.

Bella makes eye contact with no one. All the seats are taken so she stands with Rose and Royce in a small group. A few feet away in another circle, Angela is laughing about something, and Edward is smiling.

Royce taps the neck of his beer to Bella's. "You trying to steal my girl again?"

Bella doesn't answer.

"Hey, hey," he says quietly, taking Bella's chin in his hand and moving her face so they're eye to eye. "There's room in her heart for both of us, you know? She told me that. She told me." He laughs.

Rose knocks Royce's hand away. "You're drunk," she says. "Leave her alone."

Thinking she might just go home, Bella searches Edward out so she can say goodbye to him. He's next to Emmett and still smiling so the tension that was between them earlier must be over. Or maybe, like Royce, Edward's drunk and just doesn't care at the moment.

Pete steps into her path. "Bella fucking Swan at a party." He gives his eyes a dramatic rub. "It must be a mirage."

Bella shoves at his shoulder. "Hi, Pete."

He gathers her into a hug. "Shall we finish what we started?"

"Stop."

He lets go of her. "What's up with you? What's been going on?"

"Loaded question," she says. "What isn't up will take less time. Let's see... the stars aren't covered up for once." She gestures at the sky. "And my parents aren't here, there's another plus. And um... well, I guess that's about it."

"Sounds like a good time," he says.

With a glance over Pete's shoulder, she finds Edward looking at her.

"Muse!" he says. "You're out." He puts his arm around her and squeezes her shoulder. She would love it if everyone disappeared right now and she could just lean into him and close her eyes.

"Catcha later, Swanny," Pete says, giving the hood of her jacket a tug.

As if attached to his hip, Angela appears next to Edward, pulling Emmett along by the hand.

"I'm glad to hear you're getting him to make music," Angela says. "We can use his talent for our next show."

Dropping his arm from Bella's shoulder, Edward explains that Angela's a theater major. "Sometimes I-"

"He means _usually_ he composes for our small company. Doesn't pay much but it's experience, you know?"

With the beer bottle to her mouth, Bella nods like she knows.

"Emmett," Angela says. "Did you see that tree out front?"

"What tree?"

"Exactly." She taps Edward's stomach. "I knew Tree would die on your watch. Didn't I tell you?"

She says it like it's funny, like Edward hasn't been struggling every day, sweating to keep it alive.

"Didn't I?"

Edward stiffens, his smile gone. He takes a drink of his beer.

"It's okay. I'll get you another one. And when that one dies, I'll get you a third." She laughs.

Can't she recognize that he doesn't like her teasing? If Bella can read his feelings right now, why can't his girlfriend of two years? Maybe she can; maybe it doesn't bother her. But if she wants him back, shouldn't she be kissing his ass? Bella wonders. But then she thinks of Rosalie and Royce, and she really doesn't know how Angela should be behaving, if she should be anyone other than herself—let Edward decide if that's enough, if she's enough.

"Aw, come on." She pats his cheek; he jerks his face back. "It doesn't matter, Baby. It's just a tree."

Edward's eyes land on Bella. "Hey, you want to go back inside?'

"Yeah."

With an arm around her he starts for the cottage.

"Go for it, buddy," comes Royce's voice. "Bella's into older guys."

Bella tries to walk faster but Edward freezes—turns around.

"What'd you say?"

"Hell, you're probably not old enough. Or could be she only fucks her teachers."

Laughter spits from mouths behind Royce but Bella doesn't look to see who it's coming from. Edward shoves Royce hard, sending him stumbling backward. He's had too much to drink to keep himself balanced. He falls on his ass.

Angela has her hand wrapped around Edward's elbow like it's her job to keep him from fighting. Both of his hands are fisted as though he's readying himself for Royce to stand up. He doesn't.

Rose bends over him. "Royce!" It's loud and firm, but then her voice falls quiet and shaky. "Go home." She looks to her right. "Jasper, will you drive him?"

Royce is on his feet trying to apologize to Rose. He apologizes to Edward, too, and then looks at Bella. "Sorry."

"Not enough," Rose almost whispers. "We're not right. We haven't been right. And I'm done."

"What do you mean?" Royce asks as Jasper, with a hand on his shoulder, starts to guide him away. He shrugs Jasper off. "What does that mean?" He's staring so hard into Rose, Bella wonders if she can physically feel it.

"It means what it means. I am done. With us."

Walking backward, he stops fighting Jasper's lead.

Bella hugs her arm, and Rose lays her head against Bella's.

If Bella's breeze came by a few nights ago, Rose's has come tonight. Her view is clear. Proud of her friend, Bella kisses her cheek.

Jasper calls to Alice that he'll be back for her, while Edward, brows furrowed, steps in front of Rose.

"Why the hell did he bring Bella into your bullshit? And like that?"

Rose tells Edward about Royce accusing Bella of trying to break them up.

"And what about the rest? About fucking teachers?"

"Just because she was his TA everyone says she slept with Mr. Biers. And then him leaving the school this year made things worse. Royce knows the truth, but he also knows what'll hurt Bella the most."

Bella feels like she's the one who has been pushed around, clobbered. They may be outside but there's not enough air.

The past can bury a person. In this moment, Bella can't see her way out of all the rubble piled on top of her. Her eyes close along with her throat.

"You okay?" Edward asks, and Bella doesn't answer. She's overly aware of how much she doesn't want Edward to know the truth, and at the same time how much she doesn't want to lie to him.

"Inside," is all she can manage to say as she turns.

Someone takes her arm before she gets halfway to the sliding glass door. Her eyes widen when she sees it's Alice, her heart doing a little hop in her chest.

"Bella, you." She stops, glancing out at the lake. "You throw all your dresses away or something? You look different these days." There's a slight smirk on her face. Just like the old Alice.

"So do you." She has cut her hair shorter than ever. "It looks good on you." At one time she might have touched it, might have poked fun at Alice a little just to give her the hard time she gives everyone else.

Bella takes a sip of her beer, paying no attention to how warm the liquid is now. She has to wet her throat. "No Lauren and Jess tonight?"

"They're doing the sleepover thing."

"You guys are still doing those?"

"We try? Rose doesn't come very much but at least she doesn't act like we don't exist."

A silent moment spins like a cyclone between them.

"I wanted to say I was sorry. About the rumors. But you wouldn't talk to me or even let me talk to you." Alice's eyes tear up. Bella has only seen this girl cry once and it was after her mom's car accident. "I hated you for that."

The word hate hits Bella hard enough to make her take a step back.

"But I felt responsible for the rumors. For treating them like a joke at first. I thought making fun of them would make them stop but... now whenever I hear anything I set them straight for real. I tell them that while I might be the kind of girl to do something like that, you're not and never will be."

Looking into Alice's eyes, realizing how much she's missed them, she shakes her head. "The rumors aren't your fault. At all. And I'm sorry, too." She wants to hug Alice, but holds back. "I didn't mean to cut you guys out of my life. I was just... I just..." She runs her fingers through her hair, her hand shaking the way Angela's was earlier.

A tear spills down Alice's cheek, and then another one. "We'll never be the same, you know."

"Yeah, but nothing will ever be the same. That's life."

* * *

**A/N**: Wow you guys, I have to thank you so much for your reviews. Your insights, your questions amaze me. Sometimes I seriously take notes. I want to answer everything. You'll get your answers in time. :)


	18. Transplant

Word Prompt: _Transplant_

Plot Generator—Binding Blurb: _In 500 words or fewer, write a blurb or a short entry about beating the odds._

(Not including this A/N, titles, and headers, this is 497 words)

* * *

**Something True**

**Transplant**

* * *

_**Last Spring**_

* * *

Pot roast, mashed potatoes, asparagus. With her mother across from her and her dad looking on to her right, Bella picked up her plate and her glass. "I'm eating upstairs. Lots of homework."

"Again?" her dad said. "School's working you to the bone. A kid can't have dinner with her family anymore?"

The waver in her dad's voice caught her attention. Eyes dark and pensive, his fingers traced his mustache. He didn't believe her.

"Dad, I got behind a little. Term papers."

She started out of the kitchen, into the living room, her dad's voice falling quiet behind her.

"What's up with her?"

Bella paused to listen.

"She's just being a teenager."

"She okay?"

"I'll talk to her. She'll be fine, Charlie."

...

The wind rattled the windows, practically shaking the house. On her bed, half-eaten dinner to her side, Bella closed her eyes, imagining what it might look like outside: trees bending to the wind's will, dirt and dust from the ground creating a fog.

She looked up at her mother standing in the doorway, half expecting her hair to be blowing away from her face revealing the lines in her forehead.

"Goodbye."

Her mother stepped farther into the room. "Where's your homework?"

Bella didn't answer. She'd finished her homework earlier, but nothing she did or didn't do was her mother's business.

"Dad's worried about you."

"But you're not?"

"Of course I am. You know I am."

"Because you feel guilty. Because I know."

"How long have you known?"

"It's really dumb that you're worried about me just because my mother sucks. Plenty of people get through life with no mother at all. I'm sure they live happy lives anyway," Bella said, nodding as if she believed it.

Parents weren't everything; there were friends, there was falling in love—at this, Bella smiled to herself. There was future, and a family of her own to consider. Only a matter of time and kids are grown up, out of the house, on their own. Parents were just a small part of it, when she really thought about it. Eighteen years out of how many, if you lived to old age? Eighty, ninety?

"Tell dad not to worry. I'm perfectly fine."

She thought of Riley, the way he opened his door and pulled her inside before she even knocked, like he sensed her; the way he whispered low in her ear that she was beautiful, his hand drifting up her leg under her dress; the way his lips and stubble felt on the side of her neck when he stood behind her, pushing her hair aside. In a little more than a year, she'd be done with high school, they'd no longer have to keep their relationship a secret. If Bella could, she would transplant herself to next June right now—skip all the in-between.

"Bella..."

Bella met her mother's eyes, the same light brown as her own. "I'm just being a teenager. Goodbye."

The wind outside her window roared on.


	19. Signature

Thank you for all of your support. You guys are the greatest!

Word Prompt: _Signature_

Dialogue Flex: _"There's no need to panic."_

* * *

**Something True**

**Signature**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

The glass door slides open, Emmett joining them.

"Everyone's gone," he says.

Rose, squished up against Bella in the chair they're sharing, shifts.

Edward is slouched low on the couch, his legs open, hands linked behind his head, Angela seated beside him.

"We're staying here tonight," Angela says, at first confident, stern, like she's the one who decides these things, but then turning to Edward she adds a tentative, "Okay?"

Edward answers under his breath, "I wasn't expecting you to drive back."

Emmett, standing between the front door and the window is looking at Rose, who seems to be doing everything she can to avoid his gaze. Her eyes are on her hands now.

Within ten minutes, the cottage has become the antithesis of a party. The room is like a snagged fishing line, pulled so tight it bends the pole. The room is so tense, it's bent.

"Thanks," Angela says, laying her hand on his leg.

Bella recalls waking from dreams of her mother, dreams of a time when things were better, carefree—_world_-free. She awoke with little-kid songs in her throat and memories of swinging in the park, higher and higher, as high as her mother would push her. Those mornings lent her a lightness that only lasted until she sat up, drenched in reality's deluge. She wonders, now, if Edward dreams of happier times with Angela—Rose of Royce.

Edward glances between Rose and Emmett.

"Quit staring at my sister." He moves Angela's hand off his leg as he simultaneous says to Emmett, "Just... fucking don't."

Emmett looks at Edward for a few seconds before his eyes are back on Rose like he couldn't stop himself if he wanted to.

"Are you ok?" he asks her.

"Fine," she says, adjusting in her seat, rubbing shoulders with Bella. "Just fine." Her voice cracks.

"I feel like..." He pulls a pack of cigarettes out, shaking one into his hand. "Can we talk?" He nods a chin at the back door. "Do we need permission from your guardian?" He throws a look at Edward. "Just to talk."

Edward sweeps an open hand in front of him in a defeated gesture that reads,_ Be my guest_.

The two aren't gone five seconds before Angela is saying, "I want to talk to you, too. Alone."

Rubbing a hand over his face, Edward doesn't answer.

"Edward?" she says.

He leans forward, pressing fingers to Bella's knee and looks into her eyes. "We'll be right back."

She doesn't watch as they round the coffee table and cross in front of her toward his room. Biter's paws tap against the floor as he follows his master, his dad.

Listening to the click of the door close, Bella swallows, her heartbeat almost hurting inside her chest. She knows what she's feeling. She wants to be the one closed away with Edward in his room. Like earlier when it was just the two of them. She doesn't like these feelings, doesn't trust them.

_Go away,_ she tells them. But they don't. They fight back, grow stronger. She stands, zips her jacket, and exits out the front door.

_It's not real_, she reminds herself as she walks through dirt, through crunchy weeds that reach her knees. She doesn't see her surroundings, doesn't notice the breeze.

Feelings like these, that aim to rule a person, they can strangle you. She inhales deeply trying to quell her insides. She concentrates on the wind, cold on her face. _Head versus heart. Be smart._ _No need to panic. _

_It's the attention you like. It isn't him. It's the attention._ It's the way he looks her in the eye when they talk, like she matters. That's what it is. He makes her feel like she matters, and she likes the idea of mattering to somebody. That's all it is.

"Bella," she hears Edward call.

She continues forward.

"Bella!" He catches up to her, takes her elbow, spinning her to face him. "Why are you ignoring me?"

"I turned around, didn't I?"

He lets out a short laugh. "I turned you around."

She crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step back.

"Why did you leave?" he asks.

"Everyone's paired up in there." She motions behind him in the direction of the cottage. "It's not the place for me."

"Nobody's paired up. We were just talking."

She lifts her face to the moon. Back in May, she wouldn't have been able to see it with the way the trees here used to stretch to the sky.

"Are you getting back together with her?"

Facing the ground, he reaches to scratch his neck. And then, hands searching out his jacket pockets, he looks back at Bella but doesn't seem to have a word to say. She imagines that if he smoked like Emmett does, he might pop one into his mouth right now.

A part of her, the part that remembers what it's like to believe in love, recognizes why her question doesn't bring forward a quick and firm answer; but the larger part of her, the part that understands how people are so fooled by love, is irritated by his hesitancy.

"Because first you say you're just going to try to be friends, but then you say she wants more, and she seems to have this hold on you so-"

"She doesn't have a hold on me."

Bella rubs her forehead, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Whatever. She wants you back, Edward, and if you don't want her, being her friend is just giving her hope. Do you want her to hope for you?"

Bella swallows something more bitter than bile. She knows how false hope can break a person.

He pulls his lips into his mouth, releases them, brings his knuckles to his chin, scraping his jaw with his thumb. "You're really going home?'

"What does it look like?"

"Let me walk you at least. It's dark."

"Yeah. Walk me because it's dark, not because you care or want to be with me." She snaps her mouth shut, shocked by what she just said, and worried about what might escape next. Her eyes sting and her nose burns.

"You think I don't care?"

"Sure, you care. Because I'm your muse."

"Fuck, Bella." He takes a few steps away from her, freeing his other hand from his pocket. "I was ready to throw down with Royce because of you. Do you think I was thinking anything about a muse then?"

Standing here in the dirt and the nothing that used to be Bella's place, they stare each other down.

Bella turns to head home, Edward at her side, silent.

There's a magnetism on the right side of her body, the side closest to Edward. Why is she longing for him to put his arm around her like he so often does? It's as if she can feel the ghost of it, the weight.

Like he knows, his arm comes around her, but she steps aside. "Don't."

Fighting these feelings her mind is tricking her with is hard enough without him touching her.

"Bella," he says as they enter the canopy of the few trees left standing tall and strong. He ducks under a branch. "She doesn't have a hold on me. She's back there and I'm here. With you. Because I want to be."

Turning her head, hiding her face from him, her lip quivers with an emotion she doesn't want to have. When they get to her house, he'll turn around and walk home, but she finds herself wishing he wouldn't, wishing he'd stay with her rather than go back to Angela. Even if she could sneak him past her parents, she knows he can't do this. Regardless of Angela, Biter, Rose and Emmett are still at the cottage.

"Thanks for walking me," she says as they approach her house. But he doesn't turn back at the bottom of the driveway as he usually does. Even with the police cruiser parked there, he accompanies her all the way to her doorstep. Looking down at her, he brings a slow, unsure hand up to hold her face, his thumb brushing her cheekbone. She closes her eyes and breathes out, again trying not to give in to the feelings that want to take over.

"I know you've been hurt. And tonight Royce hurt you, and I think I hurt you. I don't want that."

Her eyes are slow to open as his words, his soft tone, seep through her as if her body is absorbing them. She shakes her head. Admitting that he hurt her would be admitting so much more than that. "You didn't hurt me."

"Okay." He withdraws his hand. "Good."

She tries not to look into his eyes, the dark green of them in the dim light coming from the streetlamp. But she can't look away. And he doesn't look away either.

"I'm leaving you here to go back to a cottage of people, when I'd rather you..." He drops his gaze to the ground or his shoes. "Never mind."

"Rather what?"

"It doesn't matter. I can't change it right now."

She may not know what he was going to say, but she understands what he means. There are some things you can't change no matter how hard you wish for it.

She walks inside; he walks away.

Something between them has shifted. As she makes her way to her room the ground feels different, less solid. Or maybe it's the way her knees are carrying her. But she doesn't know what to make of this, really. She's here, and he's there, going back to the cottage, to Angela who has the rest of the night to say whatever it is she wants to say to him, her signature moves: fingers to her necklace, hands touching seemingly innocent parts of his body.

Bella brushes her teeth and readies herself for bed, trying not to think of so many things—above all, the sleeping arrangements at the cottage.

Better she doesn't know. She pulls her sheets back. Better she's here and not there. She climbs into bed, shuts off the light, looks at the stars outside her window.

_Better,_ she thinks as she counts tiny points of light in the sky, as they blur, as her eyes close.


	20. Fleet

Word prompts:_ Street, greet, fleet_

_Choose one word and write what your imagination dictates. For an added challenge, include all three words in your entry._

* * *

**Something True**

**Street, greet, fleet**

* * *

_**Last Spring**_

* * *

The snickers and whispers buzzing around Riley's class were growing. Bella could hardly walk between a row of desks without catching the sound of her name followed by the name Mr. Biers. She pretended not to notice.

There was no way anyone could have known. They'd been so careful, acting just like student and teacher at school. Unless she was being followed when she walked to his house, which she highly doubted, nobody could have been sure.

It was Monday, meeting with Riley day.

After he greeted Bella with a kiss, took her jacket off, let it drop to the floor, she barely had a chance to glance at the fish before he was kissing her again, falling on top of her on the sofa.

In recent days, as they made out, he'd been getting more forward with her, breathing harder, sometimes moaning. Just then on the sofa, right after he climbed on top of her, she felt him through his jeans, hard against her leg already. It made her excited and nervous at the same time.

What did he expect her to do? Was she supposed to touch it? She knew guys liked that, but she didn't know if she should, if she could even do it right.

It had been over a week since he'd first felt her breasts. Following his lifting of her shirt and bra, she'd moved her arms to cover herself, but he'd pulled her wrists away from her body, putting his lips on her.

And now his hand was moving up the inside of her leg higher than ever before. His fingers pressed against her panties and she broke the kiss. He pulled his hand away.

"What are your fish's names?"

"What?" He laughed. "They don't have names."

"That's a travesty." She sat up, Riley moving with her. She looked at the tank behind the sofa. "Poor fellas. Can I name them?"

He traced the outside of her bottom lip. "I can't think of anyone better to name them."

She pointed to the one with the big graceful tail. "That one looks wise," she said. "He's The Fish in the Pot."

"His actual name is The Fish in the Pot?"

"From _The Cat in the Hat_. You know. It's Dr. Seuss. Literature. I thought you'd appreciate that."

"Literature. Right." He kissed her again. "Can't talk you into Marlin, then?"

"Who's Marlin?"

"The fish Santiago battled for in _The Old Man and the Sea_. Now _that_ was a literary fish."

"I haven't read that, so no, it can't be Marlin." They laughed together. "And the other one is Cliff."

"That one's a female. If they were both males, they'd annihilate each other."

"Oh, then she's Cleo."

"Are you-" he kissed her. "Are you done now?"

She nodded.

Lips on hers, he laid her back on the cushions, spreading her knees with his hand.

She let her legs fall open.

His fingers wandered, but when they got to her panties, she broke the kiss again.

"Bella," he breathed. "You know how much I care for you, don't you?"

Her stomach jumped when he said that. "As much as I care for you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure, that much?"

"I'm sure that much. Okay? So you can relax with me."

She looked into his eyes and nodded, lying back.

He kissed along her jaw and her throat, his fingers soft on her panties. She tried to relax. She really did. But when he stuck a finger beneath the cotton, she stiffened.

He sighed, pulled away and sat up. "All right."

"What?" She lifted up to her elbows.

"I've got to get some work done. Why don't you come back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah. You're distracting me," he said with a smile. "You're too beautiful." He took her hand, walked her to the door, helped her get her coat on, and kissed her once more. "Tomorrow. I want to take you to dinner. I'll figure out a way."

It was raining as she walked home, but they'd agreed he couldn't drive her anymore, too risky. She pulled her umbrella out of her backpack, keeping her hood up and her head down to keep the freezing drops from hitting her face. She shivered—maybe because of the rain, or maybe because she remembered the moment Riley told her how much he cared about her. It made her heart stutter and feel almost as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She played that moment over in her mind. The look on his face, the wetness in his eyes, _You know how much I care for you, don't you?_

Her heart skipped.

She replayed the moment just to see if her heart would give her that feeling again: _You know how much I care for you, don't you? _and it worked.

This was love. It had to be. She smiled to herself, nobody else around to see it.

When she looked out at her surroundings, she found that she was already at her street. All she'd seen the whole way home was Riley's face. All she'd heard was his voice. And tomorrow—tomorrow he was taking her out.

...

Bella didn't have the proper dress to wear for a dinner out with an older man, a man she'd recently discovered would be thirty-seven in one more month.

When he'd mentioned his birthday, she'd asked how old he would be. He countered with, "How old do you think I'll be?"

"Thirty-four."

That had made him touch her chin. He told her he'd be thirty-seven in May.

While her dad was on duty and her mother was downstairs, Bella snuck into their room and snatched one of her mother's dresses from their closet. Standing in front of her mirror in only her bra and underwear, she held the dress up on its hanger giving it a once over before slipping into it. It was sleeveless black silk that fell just below her mid-thigh. A little too big on her, she reached far back into her underwear drawer for her padded bra. Riley already knew what her chest looked like so that didn't make a difference. What was important was that the dress fit better. She pinned her hair into an updo and applied more makeup than usual.

She chose her thick, wool coat just in case she ran into her mother on her way out the door. Buttoned up it would cover her completely to the knees—she might have appeared as though she wasn't wearing a thing underneath.

Fueled with anticipation, walking six blocks in heels didn't bother her in the least. The scent of pine was strong in the air.

Keeping to the left side of the street, she avoided the park her mother used to take her to. After all these years, she still couldn't pass it without getting the tune of _Mairzy Doats_ stuck in her head.

Riley opened the door before she knocked. Inside, as he helped her out of her coat, she could smell that he was cooking dinner.

"I thought we were going out."

"You look nice." With a hand on her back, he kissed her. "I thought about it. We'd have to meet at the restaurant. Take separate cars. We'll plan it another time. I didn't feel like being separated from you tonight."

She smiled.

"You look happy." That was something her friends had been telling her. She credited it to the end of junior year coming up._ Who isn't happy at this time of year?_ she'd asked.

But it was the truth; she was happy. Not even the whisperers at school could bring her down.

"Riley," she said, moving farther into the living room with him. "I was thinking on my way home yesterday. I love the way I feel when I'm with you and I don't love the way I feel when I'm not with you."

He turned to her and picked up her hand. "It's as though you're speaking from my mind."

"I've never loved anyone before, but I think—is this it? Is this love?"

"If it feels like love, it's love."

"Does it feel like love to you?

He didn't answer right away, and the look on his face, the way his features pulled tight—his lips, his eyes, his brows—was not what she was used to seeing. He almost looked like a stranger. No longer able to face him, she turned her back to him.

Cupping a hand over her shoulder, he pressed a fleeting kiss to the nape of her neck. When he spoke, it was a whisper. "It feels precisely like love." Another kiss to her neck. "You are in my main artery, beautiful Bella."

Bella's smile returned, greater than before.

They ate at the small, two-person kitchen table. Riley poured them both a glass of red wine. She watched him raise the glass, aligning it with his eyes, check it out, smell it, and then sip it. She did the same, even if she didn't know what she was looking for or what she was smelling for.

"Good?" He asked.

She licked her lips and said it was, though she had nothing to compare it to.

He reached for her hand and she gave it to him. Pulling her out of her seat, he brought her to the sofa, and she knew exactly why. He never brought her to his bed, and she decided this was because he didn't want her to feel pressured.

Hands rubbing backs, they kissed, sharing the same taste of wine on each other's lips. Finding her zipper, he slid it down and lifted her dress off. It fell to the floor. Button by button, his own shirt followed. She touched his chest, the roundness of his stomach. She stopped when she got to the waistline of his pants. He nodded at her. He wanted her to do something.

But her hand was shaking so she brought it up to his shoulder. He was fast on top of her then, his mouth returning to hers. He shifted them to their sides, his fingers traveling between her legs, pressing against her panties. She stiffened. She couldn't help it. Opening his eyes, he moved his hand away and sat up.

"Really? Still? Am I making you that uncomfortable? I want nothing more than to make you feel good."

"I'm not uncomfortable, I've just never been touched there before."

"Bella, technically, I've touched you there before. I like touching you. If you just relax, you'll like it too."

His eyebrows were pulled together. She didn't want to disappoint him, especially not after their evening, and after admitting they loved each other.

If it wasn't right with the person you loved, when would it be right? She was unable to say anything but she nodded, lying back, trying to relax. She closed her eyes and let him touch her.


	21. Slate

Word Prompt: _Slate_

Audio-Visual Challenge—Musical Mastery: _"Radioactive" by Imagine Dragons_

* * *

**Something True**

**Slate**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

Late October mornings might have most Forks residents keeping their windows closed. Not Bella. Even wrapped in a towel and her hair wet from the shower, she slides her window open.

Sinking to her bed, she combs her hair out as she calls Rose.

"How's it going?" Bella asks.

"Okay, I think. So far. I mean, I'm not missing him."

"Good."

"Emmett and Angela are gone."

"Where did you sleep?" Bella feels a tinge of guilt because it isn't only her concern with where Rose slept that drove her to ask the question.

"Not with Emmett, if that's what you're thinking. He was on the couch. And I couldn't sleep in Edward's bed because Angela was in there."

Bella swallows, closing her eyes. Sometimes the dark is better.

"So I slept in the studio. If you could call it sleeping. Edward kept me up all night making music with his headphones on. _Click, click, click, click, click._"

"All night?"

"It was the noise I fell asleep to and woke up to."

Rose tries to coerce Bella to come to the cottage. Normally she would love to escape there, but Edward isn't the one who asked her. She decides that today all she wants to do is sit and draw, not face any world but the one she creates in her sketch pad.

She doesn't see Edward until Wednesday when he shows up on her doorstep with Biter by his side.

Bella bends to scruff the puppy up. She can kiss his head now without the fear of getting her nose bit.

"You're staying away again?" Edward asks.

She straightens up. "Maybe I'm tired of going to other people. Maybe, for once, someone could come to me." She knows she isn't talking simply of "people," but of guys, one man in particular, she isn't supposed to be thinking about.

"I came to you."

"After four days." She steps outside, closing the door behind her just in case her mother or Dad are close enough to hear.

"Bella." Edward tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow raising just about a quarter of an inch. "What happened to you?"

"I don't - I don't talk about it."

"Why not?"

"It was my fault. My stupidity."

"It was bad? Because-" he ducks his head to meet her eyes "-you went to someone? He didn't come to you?"

Her eyes burn, her vision blurring, a knot forming in her throat.

Edward places his hand on the side of her shoulder. "Okay. You don't have to talk about it." He rubs her upper arm over her sweater, squeezing as he goes, kind of massaging. "You want to take a walk with us?"

Under an all-white sky, they stroll toward the woods where they stop just inside for Biter to pee near a tree. Bella sits on a big rock, a tiredness—an ache—in her legs that she understands isn't from walking, but from the recent conversation.

"I've thought about what you said," Edward says. "I don't want to lead Angela on. When she was apologetic and sad and just, like, begging, it was hard to turn my back. Not on her, you know? But on what we had—what we used to be like. At first it was easy. I was pissed off. But after a while it changes a little in your head. You start remembering old times, good times. It's hard to walk away from that. Am I making any sense?"

"Your mind plays tricks on you when it thinks you're in love or that you're loved. So yeah, it makes sense."

"Bella," he says with an almost-smile. He sits next to her and bumps her shoulder with his.

"You think I'm wrong. But look what happened to you. Look what happened to Rose. And my parents. It's everyone. Not just me."

"What about your parents?"

Biter comes over and sits by their feet, looking up at Edward. He pats his head, scratches under the dog's chin and collar.

"They don't love each other. It's fake. My dad thinks he loves my mom, but twenty-two years of marriage and he doesn't even know her. And my mom definitely does not love him."

"How do you know?"

She turns to Edward, looking him in the eye. She wants him to believe her warning about love so she tells him. "Eight year affair. At least."

"Ouch." The heel of his hand digs into his chest. "Does he know?"

She shakes her head, eyes on the ground. She wishes to anything that her dad had known eight years ago, that she'd mentioned something about going to the client's house, that she didn't think it was supposed to be kept secret, and thereby kept the secret. It was so huge now. Bigger than any of the trees in this forest. It was probably bigger than the town and the state.

Edward stands. Bella, not feeling like moving, remains on the rock. He brings a foot up next to her, resting his forearm on his knee.

He tells her he's going to Seattle on Friday.

"I wanted to tell you I won't be back until Sunday. In case you wanted to come over. And that I'm not going there to see Angela. I'm meeting with a director. Angela won't be there."

"If you _were_ going to see her, that really isn't my-"

"She told me she wanted me to stop being alone with you." He laughs. "I told her there was no way."

"Why?"

"You're too important."

Bella hears the clack of her teeth as her jaw clamps tight. She searches his eyes, for what, exactly, she's unsure. She's only sure that he's looking right back at her like what he's saying is fact.

"And she... isn't. Anymore."

"You told her she wasn't important?"

"Well, not exactly." He glances down at Biter. "I told her you were important." He lifts his eyes. "I'm telling you, she isn't."

He pushes himself off the rock with his foot, taking a few steps back.

The wind blowing through tree branches fills their silence. The puppy sniffs at the ground, sniffs at Edward's shoe and up to his jeans.

"That dog is in love with you," Bella says.

"So animals can love, but people can't?"

Bella is taken aback. She knows he's right. Her logic isn't adding up with her statement. "Maybe it's just infatuation."

"Right." He holds a hand out for her. "Let's go."

She takes his hand, but once she's standing, he doesn't release her fingers. His thumb traces over the backs of them. "Can I put my arm around you?" He raises his eyebrows in question. Or hope.

Her answer barely comes out. "Yeah."

"Both of them?"

She steps toward him, rises to her toes and reaches up, one arm lying on top of the other behind his neck. His arms are strong, his chest, too, as he holds her tight around her waist.

It must have been his shaving day. She can smell his aftershave, and when his face brushes against hers, she can feel how smooth it is. The touch of their skin jars a memory of a time when Bella wondered what Edward's kisses were like. She remembers wondering if he kissed soft or rough or in between. She finds herself wondering again.

Edward must feel it on his shoulder when she shakes her head at herself, shaking her thoughts away.

The dog beside them, maybe not used to seeing this kind of human to human affection, whines.

They pull away from each other. Edward looks down at Bella, a small smile on his face. He picks up some strands of hair that have been blown over her face and moves them back where they belong.

Caring is one thing, she thinks. They can care about each other. It doesn't have to go beyond that. Caring about him, it feels warm in her stomach.

...

At her desk, Bella's sketching out a picture of the rock where she sat with Edward three days ago, the four trees surrounding it as if standing guard, protecting it from the elements above. She thinks about Edward, who's in Seattle right now, and how he wanted to make it clear that he wasn't going to see Angela. Bella highly doubts that Angela will let an opportunity like she and Edward being in the same city slip by. Bella's convinced they'll see each other whether Edward wants to or not.

Her mother's burst through the door makes her pencil fall from her hand and Edward's face evaporate from her mind at the same time.

"Where are they?"

"Who?"

"Not who. The books, Bella."

"What books?"

"What are you doing?" She throws her hand on her hips like she has authority. "Taking library books is stealing. It's a crime. Get them for me now. Or you'll pay the two-hundred dollar fine."

Bella scoffs. "Shut up. They're not worth that much."

"Shall I show you the statement?" She holds it out.

Bella pulls a box out from the back of her closet. A box full of too many things she wants to forget.

"Is that my dress?"

Bella lifts out the black silk sheath and tosses it on her bed. "Take it. It's disgusting.

"And these, too." She lifts the books out. "I can't take them back there."

"You can use my car," she says.

"I'm not going back to that library." Bella keeps her gaze locked on the box.

"What do you have against a library?"

"My ex-boyfriend's ex-wife." She scoffs again, this time for even referring to him as a boyfriend.

"Bella. What is the matter with you? You can't go on disrespecting me this way. I know what I've done- "

"You mean what you're doing."

"I told you I ended it."

"Did you tell Dad?"

No answer.

"Then you're still doing it. Every time you smile at him or tell him you love him or tell me you love me, you're lying."

"It's not a lie. I love you both. I do love your father. It's just a different kind of love. I'm not sure you would understand."

"You're right. I understand a lot of things, but I don't understand you or your excuses or that look on your face right now. All I think of when I look at you is lies. Can you really live a lie for the rest of your life?"

"Now that it's over would you have me tell him? Break his heart that way?"

She glares at her mother. "I would have you let him decide if he wants to be with someone like you or not. I would have you free me from this secret that's been like a prison since I was ten years old. I would have you stop making me a liar just like you are." Tears fall from Bella's eyes. "Okay? Because I know." She forces the words out. Maybe they're not even distinguishable through her sobs. "With this secret... every time I tell him that_ I_ love him, I'm lying to him. too." She knows this is not the way family treat each other. This is not the way that she and Mrs. Cameron would ever treat each other. Bella sniffles and struggles for a breath. "That's what I would have you do. I don't care if it's selfish. I want to be free of this! You don't know what it's like because you don't care."

"I care. I care." She puts her hand on the back of Bella's head, pulling her close. She rubs her forehead against her mother's chest. Bella's shoulders, her whole body, her bones, are shaking. "I'm so sorry for what I've done to you. Both of you. I never knew you were keeping this secret for that long. Had I known..." Her mother breaks down in tears, but they have no effect on Bella.

She pushes away from her. "Mom! It's too late for sorry. There isn't a word in any language that can make up for everything you've done or make me forgive you. Just go away!" With a hand on her mother's arm, she pushes her out of her room.

"I'll talk to him tonight, sweetheart. I'll do whatever I can."

"I'm not your sweetheart!" She slams the door with a bang she hardly hears.

She swats at her tears, rubs her hand under her running nose, yanks on a jacket, throws her sketchbook and pencils in a bag, and takes off. She thinks she'll go to her old place, even without the fallen tree, and draw. She'll think later. Not now.

She roams past her place, though, ending up in view of Edward's cottage. She misses Biter. She can almost hear him barking. In fact, she realizes, she is hearing him. He's running toward her. He jumps on her leg.

"Down, baby Biter." Big or not, she picks him up. He licks her cheek. Only a month ago he could fit easily in her lap, but now he's too heavy to hold in her arms for long. She lets him down.

Focusing in on the cottage, she sees that Edward is next to his tree, peering up the hill at her, the cloud-veiled sun low in the sky behind him.

"I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow," she says, nearing him, Biter leading the way.

"Finished early. I tried to call you three minutes ago."

"No phone."

Recalling why she left in such a hurry, she feels her expression fall, her lips quiver.

"What?" Edward asks, his eyes round with concern. "What?"

She covers her face, her hands pressing hard. This is why she wasn't supposed to think. Just draw. But his presence caught her off guard.

"What, Bella?" With one hand on her back and one on her elbow, he leads her into the cottage.

She won't say it. She can't.

"Tell me something," Edward says. "One thing. Please. This. Tell me what's wrong."

She's still covering her face. He's been leading her the whole way. He lowers her to the couch.

He moves her hands away, keeping hold of her fingers. They're eye-to-eye, his remaining full of concern or worry. She notices creases curving around the edges.

"I just ended my parents' marriage."

He frowns, turns his head like he's about to shake it, but stops. "How?"

She tells him what she said to her mother and how she said she was going to talk to him tonight.

He tugs on her wrists, pulling her into his arms, a hand on the back of her head the way her mother's was, only this she accepts. She turns her head, her temple to his T-shirted shoulder. Soft cotton. She closes her eyes as he rubs her back underneath her jacket. She can feel his palm and his fingers, each of them as he rubs.

"Something like this isn't your fault," he whispers.

She isn't crying now. She thinks she should at least be crying for her dad, for the shock he's about to get. But the truth is she wanted this to happen, just not right now, not orchestrated by her. She wanted it to have been over and done with years and years ago.

She takes a deep breath and pulls away from Edward.

"Okay?"

She can feel the lie in her nod and wonders if he can see it.

"How 'bout a drink? Not beer. What do you like? There's vodka, and I have some orange juice. You like screwdrivers? I think there's a can of pineapple juice, too."

"I don't know."

"Want to try one?"

She says she will and follows him around the corner into the kitchen. All Biter does is lift his head from his paws and lie back down.

As Edward gathers his ingredients she stares out the back window. The dock, the boat, the water, the sun beginning to set. While it's too loud in her head, it looks so quiet out there. Peaceful.

Edward is mumbling about pineapple juice being expired. "Just O.J. it is."

Visions of her father's face flood her mind. Soon he'll know that she knew all along. Will he look at her differently? He'll think she doesn't love him, and he has every right to think that. Maybe they'll both be kicked out, Bella and her mother.

She hears the clinking of ice cubes over glass. In her jacket she begins to sweat. She takes it off, eyes still on the lake, the orange-y water.

Even with her jacket off she's hot. And though she's pressing her fingers to her temples, her head won't stop.

"Be right back," she manages to say.

Tossing her jacket on the couch, she wanders out the back slider and down to the dock, crosses it, feeling it sway with her steps. She walks all the way to the end of it, the toes of her shoes peeking over the edge. She stares into the water.

It's so calm, hardly any movement. The water shines. She can see her silhouette, but nothing beneath the surface.

Even though it's exactly the quiet she seeks, the water seems to speak to her of life. Truth. She can hear it. It tells her things she already knows. "Welcome to reality, little girl. Ignore it all you want. It doesn't go away. It doesn't forget. No clean slate here."

She steps off the dock. The lake swallows her.


	22. Chandelier

Word Prompt:_ Chandelier_

Plot Generator—Phrase Catch: _Fishing for compliments._

* * *

**Something True**

**Chandelier**

* * *

_**Last Spring**_

* * *

A simple text could make a person's heart speed up. It happened to Bella at her locker after school, right in front of Alice and Jessica as they waited for the rest of their group.

_I need to see you._

She glanced at her friends, deep in a conversation of weekend plans even though it was only Wednesday.

_When? _

Rosalie and Lauren showed up before the next chime. Bella drifted behind the girls as they exited the building, sneaking a glance at her phone.

_Come over._

He didn't simply want to see her, he _needed_ to see her. Now.

They never spent time together three days in a row; they were too careful for that.

In the woods, nearing her neighborhood, she contemplated going home to change her clothes, but she didn't want to waste any time getting to his house. He needed to see her. She needed to see him. She turned down his street instead of the one leading to hers.

She recalled what Rose's brother had told her that humiliating day he'd caught her buying condoms. "Make him earn it," he'd said.

Well, Riley had earned it, she thought. Soon, any day, maybe that very night, she would be ready for him to take her to his bed. She would ask him to.

At first everything was the same. He opened the door before she knocked, he took her backpack from her shoulders, took off her coat, but then he didn't kiss her. The look on his face was cold, similar to the look that came over him the instant after she'd asked him about love.

He was wearing a shirt and tie, his hair combed neatly, his face as clean-shaven as he could get it.

"Who did you tell about us?"

"Nobody."

"People are talking."

Her body stiffened. "That - that's what they do at school. They talk. Remember what you told me about the teachers you used to smoke weed with, how there was talk but nobody really believed it except for the ones doing it? It's the same."

He shook his head. "Bella. Not near the same. I'm hearing it. Faculty is hearing it."

She balled the edge of her dress into her fist. "What should we do?"

"We're against the wall. We have to cool it."

"What - what do you mean, but..." She hadn't meant for her voice to waver so much, hadn't meant to sound so weak, so unsure, so childlike.

"We have to stop what we're doing. For now."

"Okay, but - um..." Her eyes started to tear up. There were a million things to say, no words to say them. They never even got a chance to go out to dinner together. She blinked her tears away—no crying in front of him, no looking more like a child to him.

Fingers to her face, he said. "I'm sorry. We don't have a choice. You understand. Deep down, you understand."

"You said 'for now.' How long? Just until the talk stops? I could stop being your assistant. The talk will stop."

"Quitting as my assistant before the semester's end will only exacerbate the matter. Perhaps not among students, but absolutely among faculty. Right now they think it's a joke, but interest has been piqued."

"How long? Until summer?"

"Until you graduate. After that we'll be free to do what we want."

"A year?"

He nodded. "I'll wait for you."

"Why will you wait for me?" She wanted to hear him say it, tell her he loved her, tell her nobody else could measure up—that was why.

"You know why."

"Because you love me that much? Enough to wait."

"You know how I feel about you. But the fact remains, we're being watched now. We knew this was a risk, didn't we?" When she didn't answer he repeated, "Didn't we?"

"Yes." She couldn't stop the couple of tears that got away. He caught them in his fingers, dragging them across her cheeks.

"It won't be easy for me, either, Bella. I just got over one break up."

"We're breaking up?" She folded her hands together, a bold shooting through her stomach.

"No. No." He pushed her hair back on both sides of her face, a strong hold, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "We're on hiatus. A leave of absence. Our positions are being held."

It took some effort to fight further tears, but the urge to cry was curbed some by his willingness to wait.

If she had any doubt left that what they had was love, it was gone. As she left his house—left him—knowing she wouldn't return for over a year, it was clear. Love was exactly that. It was something you were willing to wait for, even when it hurt, even when waiting was the last thing you wanted to do.

Still, there she was, halfway between her house and his, wiping her own tears away while she wished he was the one wiping them. How could they go a year without seeing each other privately?

...

Their relationship may have been on hiatus, but that didn't stop the flutters in Bella's chest on Friday afternoon, when like a dutiful assistant, she met him in his classroom.

"Miss Swan," he said, leafing through papers, not looking up at her, not coming over to help her out of her jacket. She hung her jacket on the hook, noticing the carvings in the old wood, initials, some chunks of the wood missing. She'd never noticed before because she'd never hung her coat there before.

"Mr. Biers," she said and tried to smile. She took her normal seat. He dropped papers on her desk, and didn't take his normal seat, didn't turn a desk around to face her, didn't kick back with his feet up, didn't loosen his tie.

"Red-pen those," he said, sitting behind his desk, actually tightening his tie.

"What about the door?" she asked.

"Remains open."

If he would only look at her.

"Riley?" That did it. He looked up. Eye to eye contact. Her pulse picked up its pace.

"Mr. Biers," he said. "I'm sorry."

She examined his stone face. She wanted to see the apology written on him, not just hear it from his lips. A week ago they were on his couch. A few days ago they'd said they loved each other. Two days ago she was contemplating sleeping with him.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, do you?"

"I suppose not." He smiled and she couldn't stand to look at it.

They worked in the least comfortable silence imaginable. A paper shuffling sounded like a scream. Every second she was there, Bella was fighting tears. Her jaw hurt from the stress of flexing. When it was time to go, she placed the stack of papers on his desk, and went to retrieve her coat. She turned before exiting the room.

"I think - I think it's raining out."

"Do you have a friend you can call for a ride?"

She folded her lips into her mouth. She shut the door. Maybe if she did that, just for one second he would act normal.

"Mr. Biers? Do you like my dress at least?" She was trying. He had to notice how hard she was trying. Why couldn't he give her one thing, one small sign he cared.

He turned toward her. "It's a very nice dress."

"Riley," she said, tears pooling "Please."

He stood up. "Bella, you do understand where we are right now, I take it?"

She swallowed.

"This isn't going to work. I no longer need your help after school. During class is enough. You've always been efficient."

_Efficient._ It seemed that would be the best compliment she would get. The only compliment.

...

In class, every once in a while, Riley would smile at her, but it wasn't the same. He didn't meet her eyes when he did it. He was doing it for show, for the benefit of the other students, so nothing would appear to be out of the ordinary.

Bella, as hurt as she was, kept telling herself that he was behaving this way for them, for their relationship. He was trying to save them by treating her like nothing but a student.

She attempted to do the same. Even when she didn't feel like wearing dresses or skirts, she still put them on. The way she dressed and made her face up and wore her hair were all part of the same show.

Just like an adult, she could do this. She would prove it to him.

When the girls asked her what was wrong at Lauren's sleepover, she told them she was stressed. Finals.

She was lying on her back in her sleeping bag, ready for sleep.

"Perk up, Swan," Alice said, sliding to her stomach on her own sleeping bag, her face next to Bella's. "Two more weeks and we're outta that hell hole for summer. And guess what? Today..." her voice level dropped to a near-whisper. "Jasper told me he loves me." She kissed Bella's cheek. "So no stressed-out friends allowed."

After the girls were asleep, even Jessica who had not long ago tiptoed in, returning from her meet-up with Mike, Bella felt around in her bag for her phone. She couldn't stop herself.

_I miss you_, she texted, the words glowing in the black of night.

When by Monday she still hadn't received a reply, she told herself it was too risky. For some reason, texting was riskier now than when they were seeing each other. She tried to make sense of it. Maybe faculty knew more than he'd let on. Maybe he was afraid someone would ask to check his phone or something.

She decided not to text him anymore. She would play it the same way he was.

...

The rumors hadn't stopped. They'd grown worse. No longer were they saying that she slept with Mr. Biers, but they were saying she was sleeping around with other teachers. A couple of senior guys who had never given her the time of day asked her out.

She needed someone. She needed Riley.

As the last bell sounded, Bella headed to the bathroom, fixed her hair, waited for the hall to quiet down, and then made her way to Riley's classroom.

The door was closed. She peeked through the narrow, rectangular window above the door. A brunette was inside. Bree, one of the shyest girls in the junior class. Riley beckoned her over to him with the flick of his finger. He helped her out of her jacket.

Bella may have ducked out of the way before he could see her, but she knew what he was doing. He was hanging Bree's jacket up on that hook.

Bella was unaware she was moving until she bumped into the lockers behind her.

Her stomach hurt, breathing gave her trouble, but still she waited in the hall. When Bree exited, Bella followed her outside.

"What did he say to you?" Bella asked.

"Who?"

"Biers."

"He asked me to be his TA," she said in her quiet, breathy way. "He said you were too busy to help with all the work he had."

"Are you going to do it?"

"I don't know. Are you jealous because he asked me?"

"I'm not jealous." But Bella wasn't certain of that. There were too many emotions inside her to understand them or separate them. She walked away from Bree, toward the forest.

The wind beat at her face, the earth below her feet unsteady. Everything inside of her and outside of her felt wrong.

She climbed up onto her fallen tree. There was a barricade in her throat. It was as if she'd swallowed all the dirt in the forest. Not even air could seem to pass through. She was choking on the truth. Something she could no longer deny or make excuses for. She remembered words. Very careful words. _You distract me... You're too beautiful.. I want to take you to dinner... I didn't feel like being separated from you... If it feels like love, it is love... This feels precisely like love... You can relax with me... You know how I feel about you. _

_He isn't waiting for me._

She slid down from the tree.

_He doesn't love me._

Arms wrapping her stomach, she pitched forward.

_He never did._

All of her emotions mixed with Riley's lies churned her stomach and pumped into her throat. With one hand holding her steady against her tree, she vomited over dead leaves and sticks. She couldn't stop it, her stomach contracting and contracting. Losing her balance, she fell to her knees, catching herself with a palm to the ground. Leaves crunching under her body, she let herself fall to her side. A fallen chandelier, shattering in all directions. Shards of her so tiny, they'd never be found.

She thanked God, or the forest floor, or even the rumors that had spread like wildfire from students to teachers, that she never had sex with Riley Biers.


	23. Palpable

Word Prompt: _Palpable_

* * *

**Something True**

**Palpable**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

Icy.

A cold she's never felt before.

A cold that burns, that crushes her lungs, and seems to split her head in two.

For the first second, Bella doesn't mind the pain. She's as calm as the water was before she jumped. The next second her heart is pounding too fast, her lungs are taking involuntary breaths. She can't control it which makes her panic worse. She's swallowing water, choking on it.

Her pounding head breaks through the surface. She coughs and coughs, her lungs continuing to fight for breath even though air is all around her. She kicks her legs, stretching her arm for the dock, not even sure she's reaching in the right direction. A hand catches her and yanks her up—rough—her body scraping against the wood.

"What are you doing?"

On her feet, she's coughing against his body. Everything around her is black.

"You're like ice. Why did you do that?"

The dog barks; she shivers; her bones can't be still. Arms lift her and she's carried fast through air that stings. The breeze pricks at her through her clothes like fire sparks flicking over skin. She hides her face from everything. The coughing finally subsides into one or two at a time, with breaks in between.

"What were you thinking, Bella? Fuck!"

She's deposited into an empty tub. He turns the faucet with a squeak, and water rushes out, pounding against porcelain. It hurts her ears. He cups some warm water in his hand, and drizzles it over her head. He does it a few more times before unbuttoning her jeans, unzipping.

"Bella," he says, his voice calmer now. "Can you help me? I don't want to undress you." Still, he lifts her soaked shirt, peeling it over her head, up and off her arms. She raises her hips and shoves at her own jeans, struggling to get them past her knees. They feel sewn on. Edward takes the ends, sliding them from her ankles. She's in her bra and underwear, the water filling, warming. Her shivering is less violent, though her teeth continue to chatter.

Facing the wall, she tries to hide from him.

A hand flat on her forehead moves her face to his.

He shakes his head. "Why? You know that water. It's gotta be forty degrees right now. Maybe lower. You did that on purpose. Why?"

She does know about the water. The lake barely reaches the mid-fifties in the summer. But tonight, water temperature was one of the furthest things from her mind.

She turns her head back to the wall. "I don't know. I'm sorry." It hurts her throat to talk, her voice hoarse.

"If I hadn't been watching you through the window. I don't. I can't."

She faces him again, this time of her own volition. He's scrubbing his hands over his face.

"I just wanted it to be quiet."

His hand sweeps through his hair, getting it all wet. "Is it quiet now?"

"Quieter."

"Yeah, well, it's a fuckin' riot in my head right now." He sounds and looks so angry, his heavy eyebrows slanting.

The bath full, he shuts the water off with a jerk of the handle.

"Are you warmer yet?"

"My bones are cold."

"I bet."

"I wasn't trying to hurt myself. I just wanted out of my head."

His face softens. He puts his hand on her heart above her breast. She doesn't move. "So fast."

He plucks a towel from the cabinet behind him and lays it on top. "I have to change out of these clothes. I'm freezing and I didn't even-" He leaves the room before finishing, closing the door behind him.

Now, in privacy, she takes off her bra and underwear, washes herself, her body, her hair, and sinks under the water—warm and welcoming, and much calmer.

She's shivering when she steps out of the bath, but nothing like before. This kind of cold, even if she's shivering, she can handle. She dries off and wraps the towel around herself. Her jeans and shirt are gone. Edward must have taken them with him. Not really knowing what to do with her wet underwear, she hangs it over the shower head to dry.

She finds Edward in his room in a fresh shirt and jeans. Biter's asleep under the piano bench. There's a small cushion there now, his little bed.

Edward hands her a T-shirt. She slips it on while he folds back the covers on his bed. "Get in."

He takes her towel from her, laying it over his hamper, and she climbs into his bed, drawing the sheet and quilt up to her neck.

"My underwear is drying in your bathroom. If you go in there, please don't look at them."

He lets out a single breath of a laugh. "Okay."

She turns to her side, watching him as he moves toward his piano. "Let me show you what quiet's really like. Quiet isn't jumping into the freezing lake." His fingers rest over the keys. Before he starts to play, he turns to her. "Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"Never do anything like that again."

"I won't."

"Promise it."

"I promise, Edward. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

He stands up, returning to the side of the bed, his expression hard again, his lips tight and turned down. "You didn't scare me." He kneels next to the bed, his face in alignment with hers. "When I saw you jump, my heart fucking stopped beating. It was more than fear. I know that water; you know that water. I thought you were trying to..."

"What?"

"End it." His eyes glisten, they tear up.

Bella's intake of breath is almost a gasp, not at his words, but at his reaction to them. Holding the covers over her chest, she sits up. "I'm sorry. I wasn't hoping to die. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. But just... Bella, you said, 'I'll be right back.' When you say something like that, make sure you_ come back_."

"Okay." She lays her head on the pillow. He stares down at her for a few blinks before lowering his face to hers. She feels his breath, hot, as his lips touch her forehead. They're soft at first, but then they press hard. With a deep inhale through his nose, he pulls away.

Moving back to the bench, he says, "Now listen and hear the quiet."

He plays, soft and slow, music that tinkles. She closes her eyes.

He's in bed beside her in the morning, an arm on top of the covers and locked over her waist like a seatbelt. She squirms under the weight of it to face him. He's not wearing a shirt. His lips are parted. His hair's messy, but probably nowhere near as bad as hers.

Lifting her head, she kisses his cheek while he sleeps. A thousand tiny bubbles burst in her stomach. It's like when a just-poured carbonated drink tickles your nose, only it's inside of her. She's felt tingles like this before and she knows what they lead to if you indulge them. Laying her head down, she tries to drive the feeling away. Even so, her lips are drawn back to his cheek for one more kiss, her fingertips running over his scruffy jaw.

That indulgence is already too much. She has to fight the urge to kiss his lips.

"Bella?" His voice is groggy, the letters running together forming a sound more than a name. His eyes remain closed.

"I have to go home."

"Now?" Pulling her closer, his palm between her shoulder blades, he tucks her head under his chin.

"I have to face what I started," she says into his chest. "And talk to my dad." Thin hairs tickle her nose and lips.

"I'll walk you. But not now. Ten minutes."

For more reasons than prolonging an inevitable confrontation, she's fine with staying where she is—heated, dry, safe in Edward's arms. Her head on his chest, his slow breathing. Ten minutes. Ten hours. Ten days.

...

Bella's in a pair of Edward's sweatpants, rolled over at the waist several times, and one of his sweatshirts. Her damp clothes are bundled up and tucked under her arm. Her hair is wrapped at the base of her neck by a rubber band she took from Edward's Sunday paper. Her shoes are still wet but she can't help that, can't go barefoot.

The police cruiser is in the driveway, Bella's mother's car gone. With watery eyes she turns to Edward.

"Come over when you can," he says. "Or if you want me to come to you, call. Tell me. Or if you don't call, I'll just come over anyway."

She looks down at the dog. "I wish Biter could come in with me."

"He can if you want. Borrow him."

She squats down to pet the dog. "It's okay. I'll see you later, boy." He raises his paw when she puts her hand out and she shakes it.

Straightening up, she locks eyes with Edward. She doesn't really want to say it because she's embarrassed by all that happened last night, but she says it anyway. "Thank you."

He drags the side of his thumb down her cheek.

She pivots to face her house. She opens the door. She steps inside.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading!


	24. Tumble

Word Prompt: _Tumble_

Dialogue Flex: _"Why do you always put this off until the last minute?"_

* * *

**Something True**

**Tumble**

* * *

_**Last Spring**_

* * *

Using the excuse that she was sick, Bella skipped the next two days of school. It seemed mostly true. She spent those days in bed, and all day long it felt as if she was trying to catch her breath.

She tried to avoid memories of love and being loved, and the realization that Riley had done nothing but lie. Had she lied to herself as well?

When she was four years old, her mother was frying vegetables over the stove. After pouring the vegetables into the bowl and replacing the skillet on the burner, her mother warned her not to touch the hot pan.

Bella was familiar with hot. She'd felt it in the bathtub and under the sun on warmer days. She'd felt it in the car exhaust as it heated her legs. So she stuck a finger out and set it right on the pan. With a screech she snapped back, and her mother rushed over to rinse Bella's finger. Bella, of course, had been crying uncontrollably.

Her mother's face was steady and focused, not a tear in sight, her voice free of any hint of doubt when she'd said, "You'll be okay. You're fine." Bella knew then there was no reason to cry.

"Now you know," her mother said after putting ointment on her finger, followed by a band-aid. "You learned the hard way." She kissed the bandaged finger and smiled. Bella smiled back.

She had learned of the reality of a burn the hard way, and in the same vein, she'd learned of love's reality. Like the pain of the burn she'd brought on herself, she'd done the same with love. It was nothing but a self-created fleeting feeling. Love tumbled through you. It was a trip, a glitch. And now that she knew, she wouldn't be fooled by it again.

"Does it still hurt?" came the memory of her mother's voice.

Looking up from her dinner plate, her finger still throbbing, Bella had said that no, it didn't. "It's gone," she said.

"That's my brave girl," her mother said, squeezing Bella's wrist.

...

On Saturday night, sleepover night, the girls met at Alice's. Nobody asked Bella why she was so quiet. There was no indication that they noticed anything out of the ordinary until Rose asked if Bella was still sick.

"A little," Bella said.

"Come on!" Jessica was saying to Alice as she pulled the fifth outfit from her closet. "The guys are already there. Why do you always put this off until the last minute? I knew two_ days_ ago what I was wearing tonight."

"I don't put it off," Alice said, stepping into jeans. "I just change my mind."

"That top looks exactly the same as the last one," Lauren said.

"No, it does not," Alice said as if she were chastising her. "My shoulders are too broad for that other one."

"Whatever. You've worn it before with those same shoulders."

Bella let herself be dragged to Pete's party. Once inside, as her friends split off to find their boyfriends, Bella tried to tune out voices, ignoring everyone the same way she was ignoring the sweat that was gathering under her hair at the nape of her neck. She would head straight for the refrigerator and grab a beer.

She hadn't quite made it to the kitchen before she heard Paul. "You in the right place, Swan? This ain't no teacher party."

Passing right by him, she skipped the fridge and went out back to the covered patio and sat on the swing. Head back, eyes closed, she pushed the swing with her toes. _How much longer? _

She could say she was sick again, she thought, and just walk home.

"For what it's worth," Pete said, crossing in front of her, joining her on the swing. "I know you didn't do it." He handed her a beer.

She would've feigned ignorance if she wasn't afraid of hearing _his _name and the rumor repeated back to her.

She sipped the beer and ran a finger back and forth over her thigh, over her jeans.

"You don't want to be here, do you?"

She doesn't want to be anywhere, she'd like to say. "If I have to be at a party with these people right now, at least it's at your house."

"You want to go somewhere quieter? Away from all these assholes?"

She said she did. Clasping her hand he led her through the house where she followed with her head down. Upstairs, in his room, he closed the door.

His room had changed since last she saw it. He had a queen size bed. His dresser was lined with trophies, the tallest one in the middle, and then set by size to the smallest at both ends. She didn't have to look to know they were from baseball.

She took a last swig of her beer and then started peeling the label off the bottle while he set up his iPod, playing low music.

"You're so depressed," he said.

"I'm not depressed."

He slipped something out of his back pocket and showed it to her. "Hey?"

It was a thin, twisted looking joint. After a few flicks of a lighter, he lit it up, took a hit, and passed it to her. "Don't tell my boys."

"I don't talk to your boys. And didn't you just call them assholes downstairs?"

"They are assholes," he said.

Sitting on the bed she inhaled and blew out.

"No, Swanny. You gotta hold it in. Like, swallow it." He showed her what he meant and she tried again.

It burned her throat, but she held it as long as she could stand it, coughing it out.

He laughed. "There you go."

They passed it back and forth letting the music fill the silence. Although Bella wasn't exactly listening to it.

After another strong inhale followed by hacking, she said, "You know how when you take a wrong turn? Like, in the wrong parking lot or something? You can reverse. Turn around. Go back the way you came. Why can't you do that in life?"

He placed the joint between his lips, his two fingers letting go as he sucked it in, and then pinched it from his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was stifled; he croaked. "Well, 'cause, then we'd never get anywhere."

He passed her the joint, now half its size. As the smoke went in, it seemed to bundle her troubles all up in it, confusing them into smiles. "I guess that's true. But why do we need to get anywhere? And where are we going anyway?" She lay back on the bed an arm over her stomach as he took the last hit, and squished the rest of the joint into the ashtray on his bedside table.

"Where does this train stop and which station is mine?" She laughed, she couldn't help it. She couldn't stop picturing some train making stop after stop, while Bella never got off. Staying on the train might not be so bad. You get fed, you have a place to sleep, and you never have to make a decision.

"It's safe here." She sighed.

"Here?" he asked, sitting next to her on the bed.

"No. On the train, Pete. The train." She laughed all over again, turning to her side.

"Trashed Bella Swan," he said. "I like it."

She sat up and shoved at his thigh. "Nowhere's safe, really. Not unless nobody else is around, not unless you're alone."

"Aw, now. Don't take me down that road. It's too dark."

"Cobwebby," she said, nodding.

"Ratty." His tone had quieted. His eyes scanned her body before holding her gaze for a moment.

She studied him: his white-blond hair combed forward; his gray eyes; his long nose; his smile as he asked, "What?"

She liked that she'd known him since she was a little girl. How they used to run around playing Ghosts in the Graveyard with other kids. How when she fell down in the middle of the street he stopped to ask if she was okay even though it meant his being tagged.

She knew him.

No surprises.

Stretching her neck, chin up, she kissed him.

He kissed her back, hands on the sides of her arms. "Kissing's okay this time?" he asked.

She didn't answer, just kept her lips to his. Their kisses grew hungrier, and as if he needed more of her, he slid his mouth to her chin, her throat. He pushed her jacket down her arms.

She liked the way his face didn't scratch her, the way it was soft against her skin. And when he pulled her closer and lay sideways with her, his arms around her, his hands at her lower back pulling her hips against his, she liked how skinny he felt. Like she could get out of this any second if she wanted to.

His breathing was getting heavier, he rolled on top of her, and she didn't want to get out of it.

Faster and harder they kissed, their clothes beginning to come away.

Bella in only her panties, Pete in only his jeans, he got up and locked the door. She watched him pull a condom from a drawer. She watched him slip back the covers on the bed and gesture for her to get in.

And this was another chance to get away if she wanted to.

She didn't want to.

He took off his pants and underwear and climbed in with her, kissing her again. Kissing her all over. She felt good in her lower stomach, in her chest, and even in her head. For a few minutes, she felt good all over.

When he put the condom on, she could've stopped him then. But she didn't.

He was light on top of her. He wasn't putting all of his weight on her. And this was her choice. She wasn't being coaxed; she wasn't being lied to. She was making this decision without any of that.

He pushed inside her.

With a gasp, her head pressed back, sharp against the pillow.

The pain seemed to separate the smoke in her mind. Clear it. An open space right in the center where her thoughts converged. "Wait."

He paused over her. "What?" He kissed her.

"Stop."

"Why?"

"Just stop." She pushed against his shoulders and he moved off of her.

"What happened?" His breathing was still heavy.

She reached for her panties, swept them on. Her bra next.

"Did I hurt you or something?"

"No." She zipped and buttoned her jeans, and pulled her shirt over her head.

"Was it that bad?"

She paused to look at him. He looked dismayed. "No. Not you. Me. I'm that bad. I'm sorry." She threw her jacket over an arm.

As she twisted the door handle he said, "Swanny? Are you okay?"

Without looking at him she shook her head. She wasn't okay.

She searched out Rose finding her in the living room on Royce's lap, making out with him. Not wanting to interrupt, not wanting questions asked, she decided she would text her. Tell her she was sick and heading home.

Outside Pete called her name, catching up to her.

"You need a ride?"

"You can't leave your own party."

She continued on alone, undecided where she was heading, only knowing that she wasn't going home or to Alice's.

She wound up walking beneath Mrs. Cameron's three tall birch trees and knocking on her door at almost eleven.

As soon as she saw the older woman's face, Bella's eyes teared and spilled over. Mrs. Cameron hugged her warm and tight, letting Bella cry on her shoulder just like she used to. No questions. Only tears and comfort.

A hand swept down Bella's hair. "Looks like a hot cocoa kind of night."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading.

I was told once that Birch trees are often planted in threes for luck.


	25. Spirit

Word Prompt:_ Spirit_

Plot Generator—Idea Completion: _Mind your own business._

* * *

**Something True**

**Spirit**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

The house is silent. She listens for the hum of their old refrigerator, but even it seems to be taking a break. Beer bottles litter the coffee table. She can imagine the clunk of bottle meeting wood as her dad finished them one by one. What else had he done? Had he been sitting there in his chair drinking in the dark? Was the TV on? Music? Was it just his thoughts and memories keeping him company?

Her feet squish in her wet shoes as she ascends the stairs. Holding her clothes to her chest, she peeks into her parents' room. She sees her dad sleeping. Snoring.

She remembers standing in this very spot as a little girl. Woken from a nightmare, she'd come for comfort but stopped short at the sound of her father's deep, sleepy voice.

"Come here," he'd said, and her mother had rolled into his embrace.

Bella had returned to her room to deal with her shadowy demons in the darkness all on her own.

He survived the night, she thinks now as she tiptoes away and into her room, unable to help the creaking of the floor.

But just because a person survives that doesn't mean they're okay. Survival means breathing, a beating heart. There is much more to living than that.

She asks herself why she had to get involved, why she said anything to her mother. As her mother had insinuated, was breaking her father's heart worth telling the truth? Was it worth clearing Bella of guilt and lies?

Now that he knows, she doesn't feel any less guilty or like any less of a liar.

She pulls chalk from her drawer, adding another line to the base of her wall. It won't be long until her college acceptance letters start coming in. She'll be away from all of this soon after that.

She traces over some of the lines on the wall with her finger. The first one she made. The second. When she'd sent her applications in, she'd chosen English as her major. Even if she isn't very good at it, even if she has a lot to learn and a career worth anything might be tough, she's thinking of switching her major to Art.

Maybe she could work in an art gallery, or teach drawing, or teach art history.

She puts her chalk away and dusts her hands off on Edward's sweats.

Her phone is sitting on her nightstand. She checks her messages: one from her mother wondering where Bella was, and two from Rose: _Your mom called asking if you were with me. I told her you were. Call me_. And later: _Where are you? If I lied for you and you're really hurt or lost somewhere I'm going to kill myself._

She sends Rose a text: _I'm okay. Thanks for covering._

She thinks about what Rose was covering up for, how close Bella and Edward were when she awoke, her bare leg touching his.

She showers, this time combing out her hair, and by they time she gets downstairs, the beer bottles are cleared out and her dad is sitting in the living room. He shoots to his feet when he spots her.

"Hi, Dad." She doesn't know what else to say. She pushes hair off her face and looks away.

"Rose brought you home early."

"I wasn't with Rose," she says, tired of lies. "I was at her brother's cottage." She's still unable to look at her father. "I didn't plan to go there." She shrugs. "It's close by."

She wonders what might have happened if Edward hadn't been there. Where would she have stayed? Would she have come home? And then what? Would she have still jumped into the lake?

Feeling her dad's gaze on her, she fidgets with her hands. She slides them into her back pockets. She thinks about going back upstairs. But hiding, that isn't why she came home.

"He has a puppy. Biter. Well, Thelonious. He's a sweet dog." She has no idea what she's saying. She looks at her dad then.

While she knows he slept because she witnessed it, he doesn't appear to have slept in weeks. The rings under his eyes are so big and deep they pass under his cheekbone. His thumb and forefinger slide down either side of his mustache. But he seems to be breathing okay while Bella feels a bit like she's under water again.

"Bella..."

"She's gone?"

He nods once.

"For good?"

He nods again. "She volunteered to go. I took her up on it."

"I'm sorry-" they say simultaneously.

"You're sorry?" her dad says. "For what, baby girl?"

She almost starts crying at that. Her eyes fill. "For not telling you." Some tears fall. The walls are closing in on her. This room is too small for a conversation like this. "I've known. Since I was ten. I should've- I wish I would've-"

He rushes to her, enveloping her in his arms. They both cry when he hugs her. He's squeezing tight over her shoulders and her arms wrap around his back. The flannel shirt her tears are wetting is rough against her cheek but she doesn't care. His breath shudders and it's the only sound he makes.

"I'm sorry, Daddy."

"You don't apologize. All right? None of that."

"But I-

"You should never have known because it should never have happened."

As they hug, Bella's struck with the memory of the small bear wearing a police uniform her dad had given her for her eighth or ninth birthday.

"He picked it out himself," her mother had said, wrapping her hand around his fingers as if she were proud.

She wants to go search for that bear; she knows she still has it somewhere. She wants to go back and be the little girl who slept with it.

Her dad's embrace tightens. "I don't understand how she could be so careless with you."

He releases her, takes a breath, wipes his eyes from the outer corners to the inner corners. "You hungry?'

"No." She probably should be, but in this moment she doesn't think she'll ever be hungry again.

"You want to sit down?"

They round the end table, Bella's dad returning to his chair. Bella sits on the sofa.

She still doesn't know what to say. She's never opened up to her dad, never had a serious eye-to-eye talk with him. He's told her how proud he is of her with a kiss to her head, he's teased her about being so pretty, he's told her she's the smartest girl in the world, but they've never really talked about anything real. Maybe because, until now, Bella has avoided it.

He leans forward and picks up Bella's hand. "It's possible to throw so much of your time and energy into keeping the world around your family safe that you neglect those who drive your work the most."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been very... dedicated to my job, my duty. Maybe if I'd shown my family a similar dedication..."

"Is that what she said? Was that her reason?"

"She didn't give me a reason. But the signs are all there. I see them now, plain as day."

"But she could've told you she wasn't happy or whatever. Were you supposed to read her mind?"

"I think I must've known on some level. When she looked at me with that grim face and sat down, saying 'Charlie, I need to tell you something,' I knew immediately it was a confession, and I knew what the confession was."

"How?"

"There was fear in her eyes, but that's not all I saw. There was also regret, sorrow, and hope. I know the look of a confession when I see one. Fear of having to come forward and fear of what lies ahead. Regret for either your transgressions, or having been caught. Sorrow, because admitting what you've done not only shows others a side to yourself you'd like to keep buried, it also forces you to confront yourself. And hope that the confession might somehow absolve you. It rarely does."

Through his explanation, he's been talking with his hands, gestures that emphasized his thoughts, and Bella noticed he was still wearing his wedding ring.

"Would you take her back?" She regrets the question as soon as it's out of her mouth. She wasn't prepared for the look that came over his face when she asked it. She has to learn that some things are just not meant for her to know. She had seen the sadness in his eyes when she first came downstairs, but that was the post sadness, this is sadness at its start. She wants to apologize for asking, and again for how mixed up she is in his unhappiness.

In the next second, his expression changes: anger, determination. "Not if she got down on her knees and begged every day for the rest of her life. Any chance she might have stood was shot to hell the minute she involved you."

On the coffee table is a tall, lopsided vase glazed deep blue and gold, and a matching ashtray. They were made by her mother when she took a pottery class. And then there are the refinished kitchen cabinets, the painted door, the new curtains hung just last week. Bella realizes that whether or not the ring is on her dad's finger doesn't mean anything. Her mother's presence is all over this house, and inside them, in their memories. And even, though it's hard to admit, in their hearts.

Her dad moves next to her on the sofa and puts his arm around her. She leans against him.

"She spent a lot of time avoiding eye contact with me," he says. "When she spoke with me, she often looked at my lips instead of my eyes. I never considered that too much before."

Bella thinks about the things that people consider after it's too late to do anything about them.

"You said you've known since you were ten?" He's looking down at her with a frown, his throat squishing up at this angle so it looks like he has a double chin. "That was the year you had all that trouble in math. The fractions."

Bella remembers. She had to go to summer school just so she could pass to the sixth grade. She never thought that could have been connected to her mother's infidelity, but now she considers it. It was the only year she had such trouble in math. The first and the last.

In the late afternoon her dad makes grilled cheese sandwiches, insisting they both eat. As they sit opposite each other, they don't talk about who's missing, who will always be missing from this table from now on.

Bella talks to him about her drawings then runs up to her room for her sketchpad. Her dad turns the pages slowly, commenting on every one of them.

"I'm changing my major." She pulls out a kitchen chair. "From English to Art."

Her dad looks up from the sketchbook. He squeezes the backs of her fingers the way she has seen her mother squeeze his fingers. "Do what makes you happy."

Upstairs she finds her bear along with other stuffed animals in a plastic tub at the top of her closet. She lays them all out on her bed like she used to do when she was half the age she is now. The police bear goes last, sitting in front of the rest. They look so innocent on her bed. They haven't changed a bit in all these years. They're not faded or dusty.

She puts the box, now empty, at the top of her closet, and then she pulls out the other box, the cardboard box, the box that held her mother's black dress and the library books. At the bottom, under her contest essay and her English journal, is the afghan.

She tugs it out, opens it up and spreads it over her bed, careful not to cover up the animals. She had chosen greens and browns, the colors of the forest.

She studies her bed, all that will surround her the next time she lies in it. Her dad has none of this. He'll be falling asleep and waking up alone every day now.

She folds the blanket up neatly and carries it downstairs. Her dad has just finished the dishes.

"I made this," she says.

He turns off the faucet and turns to her. "You made that?"

"I want you to have it." She pushes it toward him. "It can go on your bed."

He accepts it without taking his eyes off her. "You're something else, you know that?"

He smiles, wraps an arm around her, and kisses her head. Pressing a hand to her face to keep her close to his chest, he says a low and quiet, "I love you."


	26. Brew

Word Prompts: _Brew, flew, stew_

_Choose one word and write what your imagination dictates. For an added challenge, include all three words in your entry._

* * *

**Something True**

**Brew**

* * *

_**Last Spring**_

* * *

Mrs. Cameron handed her a mug of cocoa and Bella blew at the steam billowing up from the top. "I've never made a good decision my whole life."

"Nonsense. And I have reasoning that can't be argued. You decided to come here tonight, didn't you? Now come with me." She placed an arm around Bella's shoulders, leading her from the kitchen to the small living room. Bringing out a basket of yarn from the coat closet, Mrs. Cameron announced she got new colors and that they're making afghans.

While her cocoa cooled on a coaster, Bella chose her colors: two greens, one brown, and a cream. It had been over a year since she last touched a pair of knitting needles, but as she sat on the floor and began her slipknot, everything came back to her. She barely had to pay attention.

Mrs. Cameron was in her glider, sliding her glasses on. It didn't seem right without the squeaking sound of the old rocking chair. Bella wished that chair was here instead of in a corner of her own room.

After finishing a few squares, Bella got up to put a DVD in._ Little Lulu_.

Moving back to her knitting, she caught a glimpse of Mrs. Cameron's warm smile.

Little Lulu was arguing with boys who were firing snowballs at every girl they could spot.

"I hate love," Bella said, working her needles.

"Which love?"

"What?"

"Which kind of love do you hate?"

Bella's eyes narrowed, perplexed. Little Lulu's angry voice squeaked on in the background. "Every kind."

"I see." Mrs. Cameron stopped her gliding. "Has it occurred to you that if you hate love, you care an awful lot about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I have a story for you, but you're not ready to hear it yet. You let me know when you're ready."

"How will I know when I'm ready?"

"You'll know." She went back to her knitting and her gliding. "Trust me."

Bella stared at her for a few seconds. "What if I think I'm ready now?"

Mrs. Cameron leaned forward so that their eyes aligned. "It's a love story. Are you ready?"

Bella shook her head fast, and Mrs. Cameron nodded as if she knew everything. Bella thought that maybe she did.

Mrs. Cameron took the empty cocoa mugs to the kitchen and padded off to bed at midnight. Bella continued knitting for another hour before taking a shower. In the bathroom she noticed a dot of blood on her panties. A little nauseous, she washed them before washing herself under a stream of hot water.

In the morning it was Mrs. Cameron's idea that Bella leave her blanket squares.

"You can continue it next time you come," she said, hugging Bella goodbye.

"I used to want to live here," Bella said, stepping out of Mrs. Cameron's arms.

"My door is always open to you. You know that."

...

Deciding to clear her life of Riley as much as possible, Bella walked to his house that afternoon.

He didn't answer the door until_ after_ she knocked this time.

"Bella," he said with his head cocked to the side like he felt sorry for her. "You know you're not supposed to come over anymore."

"I'm not here for you. I'm here for something else."

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in as if he was some sort of gentleman.

After a glance at the sofa she couldn't help but notice the frame was back in its position on the table. Victoria.

"Did your wife get married?"

"What?"

"Did you end up going to your ex-wife's wedding?"

"Oh, no."

"But her picture's back?"

He didn't answer; she didn't press.

"I want to pull my essay from the contest."

"What? Why?"

"I just do."

"You can't, Bella."

"Miss Swan," she said.

It might have been slight, but Bella saw his head jerk back. "You can't pull it. Winners are being announced on Friday. And listen, you're in the top three. "

"Are you sure you should be telling me that? Is that ethical?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Pull it or I'll ask another teacher to pull it."

"Do you know how that will look? We'll both look guilty."

If understanding hadn't already been crystal clear to her, it would have been then. He didn't give a shit about her. Her insides felt cut open all over again. But she wouldn't let him witness her bleed. "We both knew this was a risk, didn't we?"

"Tell me why you want it pulled."

She wouldn't tell him that the reason she wanted it pulled was because he had been the one to talk her into entering. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of any real answer. "I can always ask Mrs. Cohen to do it. Maybe she'll also want to know why."

She saw him swallow as if there was a golf ball going down.

"And leave Bree alone or I'll tell her everything."

She walked to the fish tank and tapped on the glass. "Bye," she whispered. Then she walked to the front door, opened it, stepped outside.

She took the forest way home. She thought about how well she knew it, how she could walk from this edge to her neighborhood with her eyes closed. She turned around and walked backwards.

A grid of sunlight snuck through the trees to the ground. Of course, of all the days for the sun to come out, that was the day. She wished for rain. She wished for it to rain so hard the dirt would slush to mud and cake her shoes. Her hair would be smashed to her head. Rain so hard it came down in sheets so that even if she were to turn around and face forward, she wouldn't be able to see where she was going.

Bella had heard about girls like her before, girls who fell in love with teachers. She hadn't been sure they were real; or if they were real, she knew they were crazy, and it certainly wasn't something that went on in a place like Forks. But here she was, one of them. No amount of walking backwards could change that. Time could not be reversed. Why she continued to walk backwards, she couldn't be sure. Maybe it was simply that she didn't want to face where she was going, to a home where she was once smart, where she'd thought she'd known better. Maybe she was afraid that at home all these warring emotions would brew into tears and she'd lie down on her bed crying the day and night away

At some point the crushing feeling in her chest that thought it was love would have to let up.

In her room she dug through her desk drawers in search of an old box of colored chalk. She drew out the blue one and wrote the number 370 on the wall by her bed, the number of days before she graduated high school.

Under that number she drew a short, vertical line.

* * *

**A/N**: You all are so wonderful and appreciated. Thank you.


	27. Deprive

Word Prompt: _Deprive_

Audio-Visual Challenge—Imagined Image: fictionistaworkshop dot com / wp-content / uploads / 2013 / 04 / 1kglr3xU dot jpg

* * *

**Something True**

**Deprive**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

Through routine, Bella and her dad begin to repair their foundation—sewing up holes, reinforcing the beams of their lives. Her dad has kept his work to a more consistent schedule: home in the morning for breakfast with Bella, home again in the evening for dinner. He does the cooking while Bella does the clean up.

Over dinner, two nights after her mother left, and as if it had been a part of their current conversation, her dad said, "I don't care if he's Rose's brother. You can't be spending nights with twenty-one year old guys."

If her mother had said this, Bella would've laughed at her, but to her dad she says, "I know."

Even with their routine, their lives feel fragile, like one wrong move and all the effort they've put into it will come tumbling down around them. The furniture seams will open, the insides of cushions tumbling out. They'll be left nothing but tatters of a family. For instance when Bella's mother called her it seemed as though some of the screws had come loose from the floorboards, like the floor under Bella's feet might break away if she stepped too heavily.

Bella has been conflicted about her mother. She isn't ready to talk to her, but she feels as though she should, as Bella—even knowing of the destruction it would cause—was the one who put all of this into motion.

_I want to take you out to dinner, _her mother has said. _I want you to help me choose an apartment._ Bella left both calls unanswered, and this continues to eat at her.

So home from school, the house empty, when she gets another phone call, she nearly guards her head as if the roof might start caving in. That is, until she sees Edward's name.

He tells her he's about to walk Biter and asks if she wants to come along.

It's been four days since she saw Edward. Bella grows impatient with waiting in the house, so she's on the doorstep when Edward and Biter—who's jumping around, trying to get away from the leash—approach.

"He's been deprived of Bella," Edward says. "He's been like this since we got to your street."

She goes straight to Biter to calm him down, petting him, hugging him, talking to him as if he can understand her. After a few minutes he's calm and she straightens up.

Edward catches her gaze. "If I were a dog, I'd probably be making a fool of myself just like him." He smiles and puts an arm around Bella, walking back the way he and Biter had come, toward the trees at the end of her street.

The wind is cold enough to turn their noses pink, reminding them how close winter is, how, most years, winter comes to Forks early. Bella digs her hands into her coat pockets thinking she should've worn gloves. Above, the sky is like one massive white cloud.

"I drew this," Bella says, pointing to the rock where she had sat with Edward and told him about her mother's affair. They both stop, Edward facing Bella. "I would've put you in the picture if I could draw people."

"Biter, sit," Edward says, pointing at the ground, but not looking away from Bella. "Stay."

With the leash wrapped around his wrist, he lifts his hand to Bella's jaw, a thumb running along her cheekbone the way he does. And her eyes close the way they do. His palm is warm on her skin.

She's aware of every breath she takes just as she's aware of his. And when it seems he'll take another breath, he takes her lips instead. His are soft at first. Heated, too. He tilts his head and then he's really kissing her. She feels the pull at her top lip, the release, and the return. She leans up toward him, returning the kiss. Giving to him what he's giving her, until, with a hand on his face, her lips still before his do and she turns her head, their joined mouths slipping apart.

Both of them open their eyes.

"You don't want this," he says, and it saddens her that it's a statement and not a question, because the truth is she does want it, but she can't accept it. Not when he doesn't know who he's kissing, not really.

Fingers to her lips, still feeling the tingling of his mouth on hers, she thinks about this.

"It's not because you're my muse. Don't think that."

She shakes her head. "I don't think that."

"Look." He pushes her hair back, and holds onto a chunk of it, not letting go. "After what happened at the dock-"

"Don't."

"No. No. I'm not trying to remind you, or, well, maybe I am. I just want to say that it really made me think about how short life is, and I just- I don't want to waste any of it. I want to go for what I want." He lets go of her hair and his voice quiets. "You."

Her breath catches. She takes hold of his upper arm, maybe to keep from losing her balance.

"Can we go to your cottage? I need to tell you some things."

As they walk, he doesn't put his arm around her. Down by his side, his hand slips to Bella's, his fingers brushing against hers. And then, threading their fingers, he clasps her hand. He looks at her with a question in his eyes, like he expects her to say something or maybe to pull away. She doesn't. Not this time. But her insides are heavy, like she can feel the weight of her intestines and her lungs, her kidneys and her heart.

The sky has turned from white to coral by the time they reach the cottage. Inside, there's a long silence. Bella doesn't know where to begin, or if she even can. Biter has gone to his water bowl and Bella listens to his slurp, slurp.

"This is serious?" Edward says. "Is it about your parents?"

"No. It's about me."

Understanding meets Edward's eyes. "Hang on." He takes Biter to his room, tells him to lie down, and then closes the door, coming back to Bella. He stands across from her, the coffee table between them.

"Go ahead," he says, like it's that easy. "Tell me."

Staring ahead at the window, she sinks to the couch as if entranced. She can't seem to open her mouth, and if she could, would words come out?

She pushes her jacket down her shoulders and off her arms.

"Bella?"

"It's not easy. To say." The room might be spinning. She's dizzy.

"Should I-" He moves to the chair and takes a seat.

Her gaze is locked on the cedar wood table. "The thing that Royce said was true."

"What did he say?"

"Edward." She turns to him. "The thing he said at your party that made you push him?"

It takes a second for reality to hit Edward, but then he shoots to his feet, a hand going straight for his hair.

Bella stands, too. "I didn't-I didn't sleep with him. But I, I might have. I thought I was in love with him. I thought he loved..."

"Who?"

She shakes her head, refusing to say his name. Now that it's out, Bella understands how stupid and crazy it sounds. When you're not living it, feeling it—when it's not _inside_ of you—it seems like the most ridiculous thing.

"I don't know why I let it get that far. He made me think that - he made me think he cared, but he didn't. Not even a little."

Edward is standing with his back to her. She feels her lip tremble.

"How old is he?"

She doesn't answer.

"In his twenties?"

"Older."

"How old?"

"Thirty-seven."

She sees his shoulders rise with a deep breath, his hands clench slowly into fists. He throws the front door open, shoves at the screen, and walks out.

She catches a glimpse of the deepening sky before the door slams shut.

Bella doesn't know what to do. Should she wait here? Follow him? What is he thinking? Is he disgusted with her?

She stands where she is, eyes on the door until it opens again.

Edward takes the few steps toward her. "Bella." He sounds out of breath and he's basically talking through his teeth. His eyes are mere squints. "He fucking took advantage of you, you know that?"

When she blinks, some tears fall with it. "I was so stupid."

His jaw pulses. "Where does he live?"

"He used to live in Forks, but I don't know if he still does."

"Where in Forks?"

She steps around the coffee table toward him. "Why? What are you going to do?"

"If you don't tell me, I can still find out."

"Don't do anything."

"Why not?" He almost yells it.

Her chest tightens and she swallows more tears. As she speaks, the words shake. "Because I want it to go away. I don't want it to rule me anymore."

He stares down at her.

"And Royce knows? What about Rosalie?"

"Rose thinks they're just rumors. The rest of the school, everyone thinks they know. It got worse after he left the school. He was fired or he quit. I don't know which one. But he didn't come back this year, and we all knew he wouldn't be back by the end of last year. Rumors were crazy before, but after he left, it was like proof to people that the rumors were true." Her chest wants to gasp for air, but she won't let it. She walks over to the window, letting a few more tears go. "He warned me something like that would happen. But I couldn't care about it back then."

From behind her, his hands grasp the sides of her arms, his face dropping to her shoulder. He inhales, seeming to breathe her in. The feel of his lips pressing against her T-shirt relaxes her in a way she didn't think possible.

"Okay," he says. "I won't do anything."

"Af-after graduation I'm getting out. I'm going somewhere where nobody knows me and I don't know anybody."

"Where?"

"It depends on where I get accepted."

"Where did you apply?"

She finds his face in the reflection of the window. "UCSB, Irvine, Florida State-"

"Nowhere in Washington?"

"U-Dub just because it's cheaper, but it's not far enough."

"It's a good school, and when you're there, it _feels_ far away. It's nothing like Forks."

She turns around, and Edward doesn't back up. They're close, face to face. She leans against her hands behind her back.

"Bella," he whispers, but nothing else. He's looking at his fingers tracing her collarbone.

"I have to go."

She has to be home before seven, in time for dinner with her dad. Their shared dinners are an unspoken key part in keeping their home together.

With a nod, Edward goes to get Biter and they walk her home. Edward doesn't put his arm around her or hold her hand. Outside her front door, he wraps her tight in his arms, but doesn't kiss her.

Bella tries not to think about what that means, or the fact that it has everything to do with what she told him today.

She peers through the window watching where Edward still stands on the porch, facing the door. He seems to be examining the wood. He says something to Biter and then they both turn and walk away.


	28. Evocative

Word Prompt: _Evocative_

Dialogue Flex: _"Save some for me!"_

_Using the provided snippet of dialogue, explore what comes to mind, be it a scene, a thought, or something else._

* * *

**Something True**

**Evocative**

* * *

_**Last Spring**_

* * *

On her knees, Bella added her second tally to the base of her wall, the air smelling as if a barbecue had been left smoking. She sniffed and the scent desiccated her throat to a cough. Her door was flung open and she spun around in a squat.

"Fire!" her mother said. "We're being evacuated. Grab anything important and come on!"

Bella was on her feet in an instant looking around her room for something to grab. Bedding, books, laptop, cell phone, a thumb piano, textbooks, snapshots of friends, last night's nightshirt. Her eyes kept circling, kept scanning. She looked down at the chalk in her curved palm, turned her hand over and let the stick fall. It didn't make a sound.

Outside the sky was gray, not the overcast type of gray, but deeper, as if someone had rubbed newspaper print all over it.

Ash was blowing like snow in the wind.

Sirens rang in the distance.

Her mother was filling the car with picture frames and photo albums. Bella got into the front seat and waited.

"At least bring some clothes," her mother said, but Bella didn't move.

Her mother ran back into the house and returned with as much of Bella's clothes from her closet she could fit in her arms. Then she disappeared again.

Seconds later the passenger door opened and her mother shoved in the comforter and pillow from Bella's bed. "I don't know how long we'll be gone."

"Where are we going?" Bella asked as her mother started the car.

"They said to go to the schools." She peered over her shoulder, backing out of the driveway. "The multipurpose rooms."

"Which school?"

"Dad says we should go to the middle school. It's farther from the fire than the high school, so we won't have to worry about relocating again."

As they descended the hill the sirens grew louder, too close. Bella was about to ask where the fire was when she saw it. The flames weren't visible from the road, but she could see the tornado of smoke rising above the trees. She watched as they drove past. Her patch of forest, her place, her tree.

She hated what she was seeing, but couldn't look away. Shattered pieces of Bella were still out there, burning now.

_Grab anything important?_ Bella thought. There was no way to grab a fallen tree. There was no way to grab a circumference of space.

In the multipurpose room, a mash of voices bounced off the walls, traveled to the ceiling and back down again, making everything that much louder. Following her mother toward the side wall, Bella made a point not to look around for anyone she knew.

Families were settled on spread blankets, their spaces claimed. A glance over her shoulder revealed more people entering. If they continued to file in that way, Bella imagined the room would resemble one big, human patchwork quilt—separate lives stitched together for a short time to become one.

Her dad found them right away, giving them both a hug and a kiss on the head.

"The good news is," he said, "low wind, and they got to the fire early."

He reminded them that there were vending machines if they got hungry, and said that pizzas were being sent over for lunch. And then he had to rush off, heading to the scene of the fire.

Her mother followed after him, telling Bella that she was getting a blanket for them to sit on.

Every so often there was the reverberating sound of a helicopter flying above.

People around Bella were praying with their hands folded and their eyes closed that the fire wouldn't spread to homes. It had already gotten the Lakeview Restaurant, Bella heard a man say.

"But that was right in there. Where it started," a woman said, which began speculation of the fire starting with an oven at the restaurant.

A girl of about fourteen was sitting on a sleeping bag beside Bella's feet, absently picking chips from a bag and stuffing them in her mouth while her nose was stuck in a romance novel. She could tell it was a romance because of the couple embracing on the cover.

"Hey," said a little boy, presumably the girl's brother. "Save some for me!" He snatched the bag of chips.

The girl, roused from her story, caught Bella checking out the book.

"It's getting so good. This girl, Anna-" she pointed to the girl on the cover. "-she's loved Chance all along, right? But he couldn't admit he loved her because he was too tough for love or whatever. But now, he's finally admitting it. Oh my god, it's the best right now." She smiled, rolled her eyes, and sighed. "Want to read with me?"

"It's okay." Bella sat down beside her. "You go ahead."

"Have you ever been in love?" the girl asked.

She met the girl's wide, waiting blue eyes. "No."

"Me neither." She dug through her backpack and pulled out another book. "I have this one, too." She showed her _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_. "Supposed to be summer reading, getting us ready for high school. Yeah, right. Like I want assigned reading over summer break. I can't wait until I'm out of school. Then I'll read whatever I want." She waved her romance novel.

"I'll read that other one." Bella pointed to the Stevenson.

"Good," the girl said, handing her book to Bella. "You can tell me the important stuff and I won't have to read it."

Dropping her gaze to the book, Bella opened to the first page letting the words swarm around her, veiling everything else.

_It__ was late in the afternoon, when Mr. Utterson found his way to Dr. Jekyll's door..._

Bella was transported from the multipurpose room, no longer hearing the noise or conversations around her. She no longer saw the image of her forest escape on fire, the fallen tree she had so often climbed on top of. She was introduced to Mr. Utterson and experienced with him the doctor's dingy room, the fog in the windows, the deathly look of the doctor, his cold, beckoning hand, his changed voice of greeting.


	29. Prominent

Hi all! Since Friday's update was posted on Saturday, this was supposed to be Saturday's that I meant to post Sunday but couldn't get to until today. (confusing sentence, sorry) Anyway, I'm back on track. This Friday, however, may be a problem again. Too many life responsibilities/commitments in one day.

One more thing, from now on, all chapters will be in the present.

Word Prompt: _Prominent_

* * *

**Something True**

**Prominent**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

Edward has composed so many songs since Bella opened up to him that she's afraid to ask him what they're about. She listens as he plays, listens as he tells her he has to take another trip to Seattle, and answers with a "yes," when he asks her to take care of Biter while he's gone.

Her hand closes around the cottage key he places in her palm.

On the morning he leaves, he scruffs up Biter's fur and then holds a hand out for a shake. He picks up his keyring from the counter, swings it around a finger, catching it in his fist, and heads to his car. Bella follows.

"Thanks," he says turning around, Bella right behind him. "I'll see you both in two days."

He lingers with Bella in the gravel driveway, looking down at her. He's wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, holding a duffle bag at his side. His free hand moves to cup her jaw, his thumb on her cheekbone. He lowers his face; she closes her eyes, a breath expanding in her chest. Her lips part, his land on her cheek, and her eyes open, the breath released as her shoulders fall.

Bella and the dog watch from the deck as Edward drives away. Beside them is the covered tree. Edward had wrapped a wool blanket around it before he left due to the freeze that's expected overnight.

Lifting the blanket, Bella peeks underneath. Many of the branches are so thin they aren't much more than twigs. They snap so easily.

Bella wonders if it should have been moved inside. It's way too heavy for her to move on her own.

Biter whines and Bella runs with him to distract him from the fact that Edward's gone. They run around the cottage, scrambling over plants and down the hill to the lake. They run across the dock, stopping at the end, where Bella peers into the water, her feet near the edge, but not crossing over.

She shivers and she knows that despite the freezing air, the shiver was rattled by a memory. She feels Biter looking up at her.

"Nobody's swimming today," she tells him and takes off in the opposite direction, back toward the cottage, Biter at her heels, then passing her. Inside she grabs his leash, throws his dog food and bowls in a bag, locks up and walks Biter home with her.

Both worn out, Biter falls asleep on the floor by the sofa while Bella is sprawled across it on her stomach, her head resting on a textbook she should be reading. Biter's low growl startles her.

"What?"

He sits up, Bella following suit. Staring at the door, he growls low again. A key is heard in the lock, the knob turns. Bella's dad walks in and the dog runs up to him barking, not a playful puppy bark, a deep, threatening bark, his ears flat.

Her dad backs up and Bella laughs. "Let him smell your hand."

"My hand isn't going near his mouth."

"Biter," Bella says, "Sit!"

He sits, his nose aimed at Bella's dad's knees.

"Biter, right. Great." He sidesteps along the wall, a bag of groceries in one arm. "You familiar with a 9 millimeter semi automatic, Biter?"

"Dad, he's not going to hurt you. He's protecting me."

"I can get behind that. Just keep him out of the kitchen."

Bella takes Biter up to her room and closes him inside with his food and water. When she returns after dinner she finds the dog asleep on one end of the room beneath the window, and a torn up sneaker in the middle of the room between her desk and the end of her bed. She picks up the shoe to examine it—unwearable. The rubber sole is loose, the canvas heel and tongue full of teeth marks and tears. The laces look half-eaten. She sighs, shakes her head, but kisses Biter anyway.

Bella tries not to think about Edward as she falls asleep, Biter now curled up at the end of her bed. Though Edward's face, his smile, the green of his eyes, is the last image she's aware of before she blacks out.

...

"What's going on with you and my brother?" Rosalie asks, patting the bed for Biter to jump up onto. "This okay?"

Bella nods and Rosalie pats at the mattress until Biter joins her.

"I don't know. Nothing. Friends," Bella says, though she's realizing that simply thinking about him can knock the wind out of her. "Friends. Why?"

"Last time he went to Seattle, I asked him if he wanted me to watch Biter, and he said that he was taking the dog because he wouldn't want to stay with anyone but him. And now here the dog is, with you."

Attempting not to acknowledge that she's perspiring under her clothes, Bella shoves a book into her backpack and zips it up. "Well, that's it. Just friends." She pulls her coat on.

They take Biter on a long walk to tire him out and then drop him off at the cottage before they head to the cafe. Bella doesn't want to risk her bedroom getting torn apart.

"Rose," Bella says after closing Biter inside the cottage. "Do you think we can move the tree inside?"

The girls try, but even with the two of them, they can only push it a few inches. There's no way they'd be able to carry it up and over the step at the front door. They give up. She should have mentioned the suggestion to Edward before he left.

It isn't until they're parked outside the restaurant that Rose says, "Royce has been calling me." She shuts off the engine.

"And?"

"And... so has Emmett. But I haven't called either one of them back." She pulls the key from the ignition and turns to face Bella, her knee resting sideways on the seat. "If I don't call Royce back, I don't think he'll stop calling me. And if I don't call Emmett back, I think he _will _stop calling me." She slips a nail between her teeth. "I don't think I want Emmett to stop calling."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Royce is begging me to talk to him. He's apologized like a hundred times. He says he gave me another chance, why can't I give him one? And he's right. When I begged, he gave me another chance."

"But do you _want_ to give him another chance?"

Rose stares at Bella until there's a bang on the driverside window, followed by laughter, and Alice making faces.

Alice opens the door and plops herself into Rose's lap. "Check this out." She pulls a photo from her pocket and hands it to Bella. "Remember that?"

The old group have been hanging out at school again, but this is the first time in months that Bella is being included in a group lunch on a weekend, outside of school.

She takes the photo. Eight year old Bella and Alice are in yellow raincoats holding matching umbrellas. Bella remembers that underneath the coats, they're wearing their Brownie uniforms. Their mothers used to take turns bringing home-cooked meals to the meetings. The girls' smiles are prominent, both showing a couple of missing teeth.

Bella looks at teenaged Alice now, who's grinning, all her teeth intact. This is her trying. Bella returns the smile. "I remember. You couldn't make the plastic keychains."

"I could too! I just made them my way, not _their_ way."

"But you wanted to trade. I gave you mine, made_ their_ way."

"And I still have it. Do you have mine?"

Alice looks so hopeful, and Bella can't remember if she still has it. "I probably do," she says, not wanting to let Alice down. "I'm sure I do."

...

Barely through the door, Edward has to get down on his knees to get Biter to stop jumping on him. The puppy's tail is wagging so hard and fast he can't walk straight.

"God, it's like you were gone a year."

"How'd he do?" Edward asks, scratching the side of the dog's face.

"He ate my shoe and he might've tried to eat my dad, but other than that he was fine."

Looking up at Bella, Edward laughs, lines indenting his cheeks, eyebrows as rounded as his smile. "Sorry."

Standing, his laughter dying away, he pulls a flash drive out of his pocket. "They chose a title song, want to hear it?"

In his studio room, he plugs the flash drive in and pulls up the song. "Just the instrumental. No words yet."

As the music plays, Bella gets this flutter from her stomach to her chest. She feels proud of him. "Wow," she says and reaches up to hug him. Overwhelmed by it all— listening to his song while Edward looks at her as if in anticipation of her opinion—she couldn't have stopped herself. "I love it."

He wraps his arms around her waist.

"Edward?" She pulls back so that they're eye to eye.

"Yeah?" He whispers it.

She wants him to kiss her but doesn't know how to say it. Picking up his hand, she places it on the side of her face, trying not to look away from his eyes, though that's difficult. She's embarrassed.

He brushes his thumb along her skin, his music still playing in the background. She's so moved by this moment she could almost cry. "Edward," she says again, but he isn't moving. She curves a hand around the back of his neck, guiding his face down to hers, his lips to hers.

Mouths pressed together, it isn't much more than that, but at the same time, it's so much more than that.

When he pulls back, she has tears in her eyes.

He sweeps his thumb over her cheek again. "Okay?"

"I don't know if I should've done that."

He frowns. "Why not?"

"It shouldn't have been me."

"Who should it have been?"

"You."

He slides his thumb to the edge of her bottom lip. "It was me."

"No. I mean, you should've kissed me. Not the other way around."

He leans in, kisses her, his mouth opening, his tongue touching her lips and then the tip of her tongue. "I'm kissing you now." He continues the kiss, slow, his tongue moving deeper into her mouth. Her stomach flies, her pulse racing. Her heart feels as though it's climbing to her throat. Both of them let out a long breath that speaks of their connection, their undeniable pull toward each other, that speaks of relief. Edward's fingertips, like a breath themselves, are barely touching her cheek. But she can feel them there as if he's holding her to him. It's magnetic, this touch. They part and blink at one another. Her mouth inches into a small smile and he smiles back. Their lips meet again, firmer this time, more demanding. He trails his fingers down her face to the back of her neck, a tighter hold as his mouth moves against hers.

He breaks away, gazing down at her, his eyes glazed. "Come here." He brings her to the old wooden futon against the wall near the door, pulling her down next to him. He tucks her into his chest, her head rising and falling with his breath. His kiss meets her forehead. His fingers caress her arm.


	30. Garden

Word Prompt: _Garden_

Dialogue Flex: _"I couldn't stop laughing."_

* * *

**Something True**

**Garden**

* * *

_**This Fall**_

* * *

Biter jumps up onto the futon and lays his chin on Edward's lap, his wet nose touching Bella's arm where she's resting it over Edward's thigh. Edward tilts his head down to Bella. With a closed mouth, he grins. Then he's kissing her again, breaking off only to command Biter to get down.

He leans against Bella, guiding her back along the length of the cushion.

The song ends, all sound fading out until it starts over again. The strings of a guitar first, joined by a piano, and last a soft bass. It's a slow, quiet song, at once solemn and hopeful. Bella can feel the instruments inside her just as Edward's kiss moves through her. It's like they're part of the song or the song is a part of them. Maybe it is. Maybe the inspiration for this song stemmed from the two of them.

She's lying flat. Edward's on his side between Bella and the back of the futon. She's feeling the pull and release of her lips, the warmth and tingle of his tongue on hers. He drops his hand to her waist, bunching up her tee. Lifting her shirt to her ribs, he stops there, letting go of the material to brush his fingers over her skin. Breaking from her lips, he lowers his face to her stomach pressing kisses against her that make her stomach contract a little more with every one.

She slides her hands into his hair. He brings his face back to hers while letting his fingers rest on her stomach.

"Why did you move back here?" She asks, her voice rough at first. "Couldn't you have composed in Seattle?"

"That's what Angela said. But not as calm. She pretty much screamed it at me." He seems to be moving his fingers at her waist without notice. She notices, though. There's no way she couldn't. "It's something about the quiet, the lake. It's like this is where music comes from. I wanted to get away from city noise. It was like static everywhere. Intrusive. I wanted it to be just my head, nature noises, and music. She didn't understand. Do you?"

"Yeah, but..." She touches his wrist and drifts her hand along his arm. "You're here. You're not leaving."

Shaking his head, he lowers his face to hers. "I'm not leaving." He kisses her. The guitar strings pluck to a close. The song ends and begins again.

Biter whines.

Edward pulls away. "He's either sick of the song or needs to get out."

Hands clasped together, they walk the dog along the lakeshore. It's dark even though it isn't late, barely after five. The wind is almost icy, stinging Bella's face when it slaps too hard.

After the dog pees in weeds, they stroll to the dock and past the lamp that looks like the moon tonight. The real sliver of moon is hidden behind thick clouds. Beside the fishing boat, Edward stops to face her, slipping his hands under her jacket and around her waist. They kiss on the dock where Bella had jumped, and this, she understands, this thing with Edward is another kind of jumping.

The wind whips her hair at them and they still kiss. The water laps, rocking the dock, Biter barks, and they still kiss. Her hands at his waist clutch fabric and she doesn't want to let go.

...

For Bella, school is still just about getting through the day. The talk about her isn't as blatant. Most of the time it's as if people forgot, unless they get bored, or unless Bella talks to a male teacher or a male teacher calls on her for an answer. That'll stir things up again.

After the last bell, Rose is missing from the girls' group. At Lauren's locker with Jessica and Alice, Bella feels uncomfortable without Rose, who has become like her anchor.

"I couldn't stop laughing..." Jessica is saying about someone letting off fart spray in her math class. "Mr. Berty wouldn't let anyone leave until someone fessed up and..." Bella lets the conversation wither away as they head to the parking lot. Scanning the grounds for Rose, she spots her under the flag talking to Royce.

She comes to an abrupt stop. Part of her wants to drag Rose away, but she thinks her involvement made things worse before. Bella doesn't want to repeat that. Royce catches her looking, and she averts her eyes, rushing back into step with the other girls. They're still talking about the fart bombing incident.

"And Paul didn't even completely admit it. He just said 'For the record, it was me.' And Mr. Berty was all, what does that mean? Was it you or wasn't it?"

In the backseat of Alice's car, Bella checks her messages. There's another one from her mom. She says there are important things she would like to discuss with Bella that are better said in person, not left in messages. Bella agrees to let her mother pick her up and take her to her apartment.

She now lives an hour away in Port Angeles. On the drive there, her mother asks her about school, about Charlie, about Rose, and Edward. The question about Edward gives Bella a clue that her mother and her dad have talked. All of Bella's answers are short until the questions stop coming.

It's a second-floor, one-bedroom apartment in Port Angeles. There's a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a balcony with a container garden of flowers.

"Still living out of boxes," her mother says as they enter. Boxes are littered around the room, as well as stacked in a coat closet, Bella notices, when her mother hangs their coats.

"Pizza or Chinese?" Her mother pulls a phone book from a kitchen drawer.

An hour later they're sitting at the table with noodles on their plates and chopsticks in their hands. The old brass lamp hanging above the table is the only lighting in the place right now. The other end of the room, the living room, is shadows. Bella's foot taps against the aged linoleum. It feels like rubber under her shoes.

Her mother apologizes for her behavior over the years and for the pain she's caused both Bella and her dad.

Bella swallows the noodles and nods, but doesn't answer. She's not sure she can ever truly accept an apology for this. She likes better to remember her mom before Bella knew anything. That's the mom she wishes she was sharing a meal with right now. That mom would be in their real house with her dad.

"And, Bella, I need to apologize again for what I'm about to tell you."

Bella's breathing stops, her chopsticks fall to her plate and she backs up against her chair. She wants to tell her mother to stop talking; she wants to explain how true the old adage is that ignorance is bliss.

"I'm getting back together with Phil."

And the bile rises.

"Now, I'm not saying I expect you to have to spend time with him or get to know him, or anything. Though, in time, you know." She gestures with a chopstick as if that can continue her thought. Maybe she realizes circling wood in the air can't speak for her because she adds, "He'll be around after a while. Charlie already knows. You don't have to worry about that."

Bella thinks back, trying to figure out if there was a recent change in her dad's behavior or demeanor. She can't think of one.

"And your dad will move on, too. You'll see."

Bella looks into her mother's brown eyes feeling her own eyes narrow.

"We're not starting up yet. We're waiting. He's leaving his wife."

Her chair is knocked on its back when Bella shoots to her feet. "He's married?"

Her mother closes her eyes , dropping her forehead to her hand as if she has a migraine. "We stayed in our marriages for our kids." She rubs her forehead. "Tell me. Tell me how awful I am. I know, Bella. I know."

Bella swallows. "No. What's awful right now is that you're telling me this here. In this town. I'm stuck here in this apartment with you! Where am I supposed to go?" She throws her arms up at her sides whipping her head left to right, taking in her cage. "Take me home." Bella grabs her jacket from the closet and throws her mother hers. "And now I'm going to have to sit in a car with you and smell your fucking smell and listen to your fucking voice."

Bella slams the front door behind her rushing down the concrete stairs to the parking lot. The night is tar-dark. The atmosphere too thick to be air. She waits outside the car with her arms folded across her chest until the headlights flash and she hears the locks unlock. She gets inside.

She doesn't know why this information surprised her so much. Phil being married, having kids, it makes sense. She'd just never thought about him having an actual life outside of the life he messed up. Hers.

Her mother slides into the car and starts the ignition.

"I won't see Phil, ever," Bella says. "You can forget about that."

"What did you mean my smell?"

Bella turns up the radio. "I won't see him. Or meet his _kids_."

...

Bella skips another day of school. Her grades are suffering and she planned on staying home by herself to study but she goes to Edward's instead. She just wants to be with him. If he's working on music, she can play with Biter. She brings her backpack with her, but if she doesn't get around to studying there, she'll study when she gets home.


	31. Battle

Word Prompts: _ Battle, rattle, prattle_

_Choose one word and write what your imagination dictates. For an added challenge, include all three words in your entry._

* * *

**Something True**

**Battle**

* * *

_**This Fall into Winter**_

* * *

Edward greets Bella at his door with a light kiss, and she's grateful when it deepens, whisking her thoughts away. For now, she forgets about her mother.

Grasping her hips, his lips on hers, he pulls her inside, turning her away from the door. She barely hears it close, barely feels Biter sniffing at her leg. She doesn't even really feel the scratch of the scruff on Edward's face until he moves the kiss from her lips to her cheek to her jaw, and down to her throat. With hands on either side of his face, her fingers just below his ears she pulls back and looks at him. Their labored breath is meeting and mixing between their parted lips.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing." She brings his face to hers, their lips reconnecting, but when his stubble pricks her again, again she breaks away, her mind rattled by memories of Riley.

"Bella? You okay?"

Her eyes flicker between his. "Can you... shave?"

A palm to his jaw, he rubs back and forth. "Now?"

"It's - he was always..." She turns away, bending to pet Biter.

"Who?"

"Nevermind."

"Him?"

She continues to pet Biter, a shudder running through her.

He walks to the bathroom, Biter—attention averted—at Edward's heels.

Bella takes off her jacket and folds it over a kitchen chair. Everything in the cottage looks the same: the heavy golden-wood furniture, the couch with the blue cushions, the big chair beside it, the crazy art painted all over the back wall, the sliding glass door that leads to the deck that leads to the shore that leads to the lake. But it _feels _different. The walls feel closer, the air warmer. Like a blanket placed over shoulders in the cold.

She moves to the glass door and looks out at the day. It has begun to snow, tiny flakes floating down, drifting, getting caught and carried by wind. She watches.

She watches for what seems like a long time. Edward hasn't come back to her. When she goes to the bathroom, it's empty, water droplets falling from the faucet, a razor at the edge of the sink. The bedroom door is open, that room empty, too. The studio is closed.

She knocks. No answer.

She knocks again and opens the door.

Edward's sitting on the swivel chair, his back to her, headphones over his ears, his fingers hitting keys on a laptop. She frowns. Did he get some sudden inspiration? Why wouldn't he say something to her? She doesn't know if she should interrupt. She moves farther into the room. Biter stands up from beside Edward's feet and pads over to Bella.

"Edward?" She says it quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He looks over his shoulder at her, his face clean-shaven. She smiles small, brushing the backs of her fingers along his jaw. He turns his head away and faces his screen again.

She drops her hand to her side. "Are you mad?"

He doesn't answer. He just shakes his head.

"Are you mad at me? Maybe I - I shouldn't have asked you to shave? I'm sorry."

He swivels his chair around, removing his headphones and setting them aside on the table, on top of some equipment that Bella assumes is for mixing music.

He pulls her to his lap, kisses the side of her face. "It's not that you asked me. It's why you asked me." He turns her face to his. "I don't shave every day. I don't _want_ to shave every day. I don't do that."

"Okay. I'll get... I'll get used to it."

He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes with a "fuck" under his breath. Hands at her waist, he lifts her off his lap and walks toward the door. "I can't talk about this." He leaves the room. Bella follows. She doesn't like this. She doesn't like following. It reminds her again of how she used to be with Riley. Always following.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her voice shaking.

He turns around near the kitchen table and leans forward over it, pressing his palms into the wood.

"Edward? Should I go?"

He laughs, but it doesn't sound like a regular, humorous laugh. "This." He aims a hand in her direction. "I have like this, like this knot. In my throat." He touches his throat. "I know you've been hurt. And I know I'm going to hurt you."

"Why? How?"

"I don't know. But I know I will, not on purpose but because it happens. Like right now. I can see it in your face. And hear it. And it scares the shit out of me. You need to not be... hurt."

"Okay." She folds her lips into her mouth, her nostrils flaring as she tries with everything inside her to keep her eyes from brimming up. They do anyway. She looks away from him. "I don't know what-" She covers her eyes so he won't have to see her cry. She tries, but she doesn't know how to not feel hurt. She can tell herself the pain isn't real, but that doesn't make it go away. This is the problem. It's her. She's too fragile, and she can't even tell him that she's not fragile and mean it. And now she's sure she can't tell Edward about her mom, can't make it all worse.

Arms wrap around her shoulders, his chest against her covered face. He holds her head to him. "You see?" He says, his voice soft. "I'm doing it. And I remember that time I told you I liked your quiet, and now that I know why you were quiet I feel like shit for that."

She removes her hands from her face and slides her arms around his waist. If they could only stay like this...

"Let's get out," he says. "Let's walk the dog."

They walk the dog in slow falling snow, Edward's hand warm in hers.

When he kisses her at her doorstep later, Biter by Edward's legs waiting for his goodbye handshake, it's just a peck. She decides to give him a break from her for a couple of days.

In her room she adds lines to her wall for the recent days missed, forgotten.

She goes to school like a normal person does, tries to act like a regular teenager. Whatever that is, she has no idea. But she walks through the same patches of snow, avoids the same iced-over puddles as everyone else, grinning when she can.

She wonders if there is a way to siphon smiles, ration laughs, for use when necessary.

Rose has turned Royce away, who is now appealing to Bella.

In History before class starts, Royce squats in front of Bella's desk, his arms resting on the wood. "Tell Rose I love her," he says.

"She knows that already."

"Remind her for me?"

Bella tilts her head, her eyebrows pulling together. "Have you ever thought that 'I love you' actually means 'I love you today?'"

He backs his head away slightly. "So I should tell her every day?"

"No, I mean, maybe you love her today, but after a little while you won't love her anymore."

"Bella, I love her every day. And if she hears it from you."

"If it comes from me, Royce, it comes with my voice attached."

"What does that mean?"

"It means..." Bella covers her forehead with her palm. "I'll think about it."

She does end up relaying Royce's message to Rose after school, and she says it in the voice she'd warned Royce about, which is an exasperated sigh.

"I know," Rose says.

That evening, after dinner with her dad, while Bella is trying not to think about Edward, her phone buzzes, lighting with a phone number she doesn't recognize. No message is left. When the same number comes up again, she answers it.

"Bella."

Even though it's been months since she last heard it, his voice chills her; she glances at her coat hanging over her desk chair.

"Are you there?"

"Why are you calling me?"

"You can't send your boyfriend over to my house to deck me."

If she could speak through her shock she would tell him she didn't send anybody. In fact, she thought she had done the opposite.

"It's in the past. It was a mistake. I've moved on, so should you. Let it rest."

It's the same tone he's always used with her but it strikes her now how condescending he sounds.

She thumbs over "end call" and hangs up on him.


	32. Punctual

Hi wonderful people. Thank you for all your kind words. You make me smile. You make me think. You make me want to write more.

Word Prompt: _Punctual_

I dropped today's "scenario prompt" because it's too specific and can't fit into this story in any way that would make sense.

* * *

**Something True**

**Punctual**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

She throws her phone on her bed only to pick it up again. Pulling up Edward's number, she calls him.

Before he answers she's boiling under her skin, but when she hears his enthusiastic "Hey!" she's caught off guard and gets choked up.

"Um..."

"What? What's the matter?"

She paces to her window and back toward her closet holding the phone so tight to her ear it's painful.

"Bella-Bella," he whispers. "What's wrong?"

"You went to his house." She swallows. "You told me you wouldn't do anything."

"How—he contacted you?"

"I can't tell you because I can't trust you, can I?"

"What did he say to you? Did he threaten you?"

"Edward, I told you why I didn't want you to do anything. You said you wouldn't. I thought of all people, you would - you're the _one_ person-"

"Bella..."

"Why did you do this?"

"I reacted. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"Do you know what sorry means to me? He told me he was sorry a lot. My mom did, too. That's what sorry means to me. _Nothing_."

The other end is silent.

"I just want for once someone to listen to me and just... _listen_ to me!"

"I'm going to - I'm coming over."

"No."

"Then will you come over here?"

She doesn't answer. She pauses for a few breaths, a sniffle.

"Bella, I'm coming to get you, okay?"

"No."

"Say, yes. Please."

"No. Stay away."

She shuts off her phone and throws it on the bed, this time staring at it for a few seconds as her breathing calms. She resolves to leave her phone where it is.

She forces herself to study, her British Literature text and notes strewn across her bed. Like fish to bait, her mind is drawn to memories and thoughts she wants to forget. Forgetting is impossible. The conversation with Edward and thoughts of him and Riley may as well be printed in the textbook for all the good Shakespeare is doing to distract her. She slams it shut and tosses it aside.

She takes her sketch pad and pencils from her desk, sits in her chair and starts to sketch the castle from_ Hamlet _as she imagines it. For a little while she's able to focus on her studies, at least through her drawing, but then her fingers seem to move the pencil at will as her mind wanders.

She tries to consider what is right and what is wrong and how she should feel versus how she does feel. Maybe some girls would like it if a guy did something like this for them, but she doesn't. She asked him not to. He said he wouldn't. How is she supposed to feel about that? How she _does _feel is betrayed, disappointed, and afraid. Afraid that, like her mother and Riley, Edward will say one thing and do another again and again.

It's almost ten when she turns her phone on. A message from Edward is waiting. Tentatively, she listens.

"Bella." A long sigh. "I'm sorry. I really am. But listen, you can't put all your trust in one person. That isn't—it's not fair. People mess up, Bella. I mess up. I can't be-" there's a pause and his voice falls quieter; it cracks. "Just please talk to me because this is killing me."

She stares at her phone. She moves to the window. No visible stars. Why can't there be stars? Peering out at the dull, blank sky, she calls him. As it rings she closes her eyes.

"Bella?"

A pause in the dark.

"Talk to me."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay... come over."

Within ten minutes her dad's voice floats up to her telling her that Edward's here. When she gets to the door, they're releasing a handshake.

"Kind of late to be stopping by, isn't it?" her dad asks him.

Edward isn't smiling. He looks noticeably upset, probably not the best way to be introduced to her dad.

"I asked him to come," Bella says, and then to Edward, "Hi."

He lifts a hand, a forced smile at the corner of his mouth.

"No Biter?"

He shakes his head.

Pulling her coat on, Bella looks at her dad until he walks away.

She steps outside with Edward. He tugs on the collar of her coat. "I'm sorry." He whispers it, probably so her dad can't hear. "I didn't think you would find out. I'm sorry. He called you?"

"He told me he wants it left in the past and so do I. That's what I want. I told you that."

He presses his forehead to hers. "I know. That's it. It's out of my system. I won't do it again."

Pulling away from him she calls to her dad that she's going out.

"Home by midnight." He walks to the doorway and holds the door open.

"It's Friday," Bella says. "And Rose's curfew is two."

"One," her dad says. He aims a glare at Edward. "I like punctual. Punctual gets on my good side."

Edward says they'll be back by one.

After the door closes behind them, he picks up Bella's hand and links their fingers.

The air is frosty, but luckily it isn't snowing. They walk aimlessly into the night, streetlamps far and few between. The neighborhood's old trees filter out what little glow there is.

Bella stops at the elementary school, eyeing the fence, searching for the playground on the other side. There is no lighting beyond the fence at all so she can't see the structures, the bars, or the slides, but she knows they're there. She hears the wind clinking the chains of the swings against metal.

"Come on." She lets go of Edward's hand, grabs onto the chain link fence and begins to climb. Once on top, she looks down at Edward. "Come on."

"You want me to climb over the fence?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I just do."

"Good enough for me." He hoists himself up.

On the other side Bella leads him across asphalt to the playground. She finds the metal dome climbing structure and makes her way to the top.

The very top is shaped like a pentagon. Edward sits on the bar beside her, their legs dangling down the middle. The metal is cold through Bella's jeans.

"Don't you ever just want to be a kid again?" she asks.

"What age would you be?"

"Nine."

"Why nine?"

"It's the last age I can remember feeling like a real kid." Bella holds Edward's gaze for a moment before asking, "How did you know where to find him?"

He takes her hand in his and looks down at it as he toys with her fingers. "I asked Rose about the rumors and she told me his name. It was easy to find where he lives. He's listed."

"What happened?"

"He opened the door. I told him some things. I said I had a message for him—gave him the gift of my right hook." He punches his right fist into his palm with a smack. "He went down; I left."

"He didn't fight back?"

"Nope. He took it."

Dropping her gaze, Bella attempts to stop her smile. She fails. Edward ducks his head to meet her eyes. He smiles, too.

"It feels good, doesn't it?'

She nods.

"Come here." He tugs on her coat sleeve. "Come here."

She scoots closer to him.

With his hand to her face he kisses the opposite cheek three, four, five times. "Forget about him," he says into her ear, pushing hair aside and kissing her earlobe. "Can I take you out this weekend?"

"It is this weekend."

"Tomorrow, then?"

His breath in her ear raises chills all over her body, the good kind, the tickling kind. "Mm-hmm."

He kisses down to her lips as his fingers graze her thigh stopping at her hip. He flattens his palm there, rubbing back and forth. "You gotta believe in love, Bella, because you are worth loving, and you are worth loving right."

Without warning tears spring to her eyes, the good kind. She grips the side of his arm—his thick coat. Breaking the kiss she drops her head to his shoulder.

His arm circles her back. "Bella?"

"Take me out tomorrow," she says into his shoulder, gripping his arm even tighter, as if a tight enough hold will keep him from floating away. A part of her believes that if she looks up, he'll be gone. "And please don't cancel."

"Forget about him," he says, nudging her face with his to kiss her lips. "Forget about him."


	33. Serene

Word Prompt: _Serene_

Plot Generator—Phrase Catch: _Love 'em and leave 'em._

* * *

**Something True**

**Serene**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

Bella coasts downstairs in jeans and a sweatshirt to find her dad in his regular thick flannel shirt. He's at the table drinking coffee and reading the paper. It's his day off.

"I have a date with Edward tonight."

Her dad looks up, folding the paper way more times than it needs to be, and sets it down, patting it. "He picking you up at a decent time?"

"Seven. But I don't like any of my dresses."

"You want a new dress?"

"Would you... would you take me?"

"Kiddo? Will I take you?" He stands to get his keys from the hook above the counter. "Let's go."

They drive to Port Angeles in his police cruiser, and he gets annoyed with the way the cars in front of him slow down. "I have a mind to flash my lights just to get them out of my way."

He passes a car when the solid lines break into dotted ones. "Where's Edward taking you?"

"We didn't talk about that."

"He's no player is he?"

She looks at him, raising her eyebrows. "_Player_, Dad?"

"You know. The love 'em, leave 'em type. Do I need to talk to him?"

"No, you do not need to talk to him. I don't think he's like that. He had a girlfriend for two years before this." Even Bella knows how weak that argument is. Riley, after all, had a wife before.

"He's on the rebound then?"

"Dad."

"All right, all right. You just... take care of yourself as if I was there."

"Yeah. As if you're there."

Bella finds a spaghetti-strap dress in deep coral silk with a lighter tinted sheer overlay. Hugging her body without being too tight, it falls just below her mid-thigh. She hangs it on the back of her bedroom door while she adds some curl to her hair and puts on makeup.

She has already decided that she won't put the dress on until Edward's at the door. At ten minutes to seven she sits on her bed waiting for her dad to announce Edward's arrival.

She pulls her fingers through her hair. She fidgets with the ends of her sweatshirt sleeve, yanking a loose thread out.

The sound of the doorbell sets her heart thumping. She jumps up, throws her sweatshirt off and slides her jeans down. She's zipping up her dress when she hears he dad's voice calling her.

She steps into heels.

It's been so long since she's worn a dress that her shoulders feel bare. She pulls both sides of her hair in front of her before walking down stairs.

She catches Edward's eye and he grins at her but doesn't say anything. He's clean-shaven and wearing jeans as usual, but has replaced his T-shirt with a dark gray button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up a few times. He looks so good she almost says "Damn" out loud.

She slips into her coat, and it isn't until they're outside that Edward places a hand on her back, dipping his face close to her ear and says, "You're beautiful."

He opens her door for her, and she climbs in. It's a big black SUV, and Bella likes that it's kind of dirty, dust always there from his gravel drive.

"Where do you want to go?" he asks, gripping the wheel. "What do you feel like?

"I don't know. Where do you want to go?" She clips her seatbelt in place.

"Nope. You said you want to be listened to. Give me something to listen to."

She smiles at him. "Hamburgers."

"Hamburgers." He takes off, holding her hand as he drives. When he has to shift, he lets go of all of her fingers except for her pinky, keeping it linked with his.

The blood pumping through her feels heated. She could probably leave this car coatless and still keep warm.

Bella looks at him thinking what an idiot Angela was.

Out the window is what appears to be a barricade of trees. Bella knows the scene is only an illusion, nothing but burnt away emptiness on the other side. From here it looks dense and serene.

They dine at Maria's Saloon along the small strip of shops Forks calls downtown. All the buildings' roofs and windows are lined with white holiday lights. Bella remembers hearing about the stir it raised in town when the Chamber had demanded that all lights be white for unification. The tree in the center of town, though, when that's lit up, it's all colored lights.

Aside from the main door, there are wooden swinging doors at the entrance of the saloon. They order at the front, take a plastic number and their drinks, and sit in an aged walnut wood booth where they wait for their dinner.

Edward had ordered Bella a Coke and himself two beers even though both Bella and the cashier had looked at him funny. In the booth, he slides one of the beers across the table to Bella.

"Thanks."

"See that fish over there?" He points to the opposite wall. "It's made out of tin cans."

The fish is huge. It looks about four feet long, and it looks real, even the eye. But where the light bounces off of the tail, she can see that it is made of metal.

"My grandpa caught the original. The one it's modeled after."

"I've heard people talk about what a great fisherman he was. My dad has talked about it. Do you fish?"

"Not really." He takes a drink of his beer. "I get bored. If he was still around-" he aims a chin nod at the fish, but Bella knows he means his grandpa "-I probably would. With him. He'd force me." He laughs.

Bella sits back, the beer in her hand, enjoying how effortless this is.

After dinner, walking back to the car, an arm circling her waist, Edward asks where she wants to go next. She says she wants to see Biter.

Biter jumps around as usual when he sees Bella, and while he hasn't tried to bite her in a long time, he does try to bite the hem of her dress.

"No," she says. "Don't get fresh."

She takes off her coat and folds it over the back of a kitchen chair. From behind, Edward brushes her hair aside.

"There's something I've been wanting to do all night," he says. He tilts her head and traces a finger from the top of her neck to the edge of her shoulder. "Your shoulders, Bella." His lips follow the path his finger made, and he slips the strap down out of his way when he comes to it.

"Edward," she breaths when he lifts away from her. "Do that again."

He does and she can feel the smile on his lips.

Hands at her waist, he spins her toward him, taking her lips with his.

"Mmm," he says as if she tastes good. He tastes faintly of beer and barbecue sauce, maybe they both do. He guides her to the couch and pulls her down next to him without breaking the kiss.

He leans against her until she's on her back and he's on top of her. A sound comes from deep in his throat. Biter whines. "I'll take you out in a minute," he says to the dog without moving his lips from Bella's.

That one minute rolls into several.

She slides her hands up his shoulders to his neck, threading her fingers into his hair above his collar.

He kisses down her jaw, down her throat and lower to her chest. He kisses all over the top of her chest, and then follows along her sweetheart neckline.

Sweeping his hand up her side over her dress, he curves his fingers at her ribs, the edge of his palm pressing against her breast. She arches her neck and squirms a little to try to get his hand to move over her breast. He keeps it where it is.

She doesn't even realize that she has opened her legs and he has found his way between them until his hips are pushing up against hers, and that low sound in his throat comes again. He repeats the movement and this time that sound turns into a groan. He sits up, bringing her along with him. "Sorry," he says, though he's almost panting it.

She doesn't know what he's apologizing for, but she can't seem to talk. Her chest is visibly expanding and falling with every breath.

She lets herself fall forward resting her head in his lap. He brushes fingers along her hair and she closes her eyes.

Any words spoken beyond that moment are in her dream. She falls asleep.

When she wakes, they're both lying down, Edward holding her to his chest. She shoots up.

"Oh my god." She blinks fast trying to get her eyes to stay open. "What time is it?" She picks up his phone from the coffee table. 12:56

"Do you have to go?" His voice is lazy as he reaches for her, trying to pull her back to him.

"Yes, I have to go."

"No." he says, his eyes still closed.

"Edward." She leans down to kiss him. "Wake up more. I have to go. Remember my dad's punctual speech?" She kisses him again and feels him kiss her back, feels his tongue. "Wake up all the way."

She sits up finding one of her shoes under the coffee table. She slips it on and searches for the other one. Somehow it's fallen to the corner of the couch.

"Edward." She tugs on his hand until he sits up. "You have to take me home. I can't walk. I'll never get home in time. And in these shoes I'll be even later."

"You're not walking. I'm up. I'm up."

He takes Biter with them, letting the poor guy finally pee outside.

Outside her house Edward walks her to the door where Bella frantically pokes her key at the lock. It turns.

"Wait, wait, wait." Edward touches her wrist. She turns to him. "Not without..." Holding her jaw, he kisses her.


	34. Highlight

Word Prompt:_ Highlight_

Dialogue Flex: _"The pressure is on."_

_Using the provided snippet of dialogue, explore what comes to mind, be it a scene, a thought, or something else._

* * *

**Something True**

**Highlight**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

"I told him I just want to be friends," Rose says as she changes the record. "Same with Emmett." She lowers the needle. "I just wanted to fall in love. But I messed it all up." She lies back on her bed as Al Green starts crooning.

"Maybe it never was love," Bella says, and Rose lifts her head.

Rose and Bella are taking advantage of this time before the other girls get here. Bella has found it hard to talk about anything honestly with them. When she talks, which is seldom, it's in a joking or sarcastic manner. She's been acting more like Alice around them than herself.

"How do you know for sure?" Rose asks. "When it's love?"

"I think it's impossible to know... for sure."

"So everyone just thinks it?" Rose sits up. "What about my parents?"

"Everyone except your parents." Bella laughs "Your parents know for sure."

Rose lobs her pillow at Bella.

"What about you and my brother? More than friends now?"

Bella throws the pillow back at Rose.

"What?" she asks. "_Answer _me."

"More than friends," Bella says. She closes her eyes trying not to think of her best friend's brother's lips on her neck, on her shoulder, on her chest. She can't stop herself.

"Gross," Rose says.

Edward has taken Bella out three times since their first date. He likes to link their fingers as they walk, sometimes drawing her hand in front of him holding it in both of his. Afterwards they end up at the cottage and make out until Edward pulls back. Always Edward.

The place they went together last wasn't exactly a date. Bella had gone with Edward to the market for groceries. It was The Black Market, the same place Edward had caught her buying condoms with Alice. Edward got a smack on the arm for purposely leading Bella down that aisle and smirking at her saying, "I think they offer a discount by the bagful."

A hand at her hip, he pulled her in close to his side, a kiss to her temple.

Elvis's _Blue Christmas_ had ended and started again. For reasons only the cashier could know, the song was being played on repeat. As Edward added a case of beer to his cart, Bella suggested they have an actual blue Christmas.

"It's a sign," she said, pointing up at the ceiling as if that was where the speakers were.

"Come over on Saturday and decorate with me," he said.

...

Furniture is pulled away from the back wall again, which has been repainted white. Edward had painted over all the artwork with the exception of Bella's lake scene drawing.

"No room for a Christmas tree so we're going to paint one." He hands Bella a pencil to sketch it out. "Make it look real."

"Oh, my God. Too much pressure," Bella says.

"Then draw it however you want. Make a triangle. I don't care."

Moving to the wall, determined not to make a simple triangle, Bella draws a tree as big as she is and as much like the fir trees outside the cottage as she can. Edward brings out his cans of colored paint and together they start painting the tree.

Music from his iPad—not his compositions, not Christmas tunes—fill the room.

She watches him paint, gazing at his profile: his chin raised, his hand lifted to the wall, his bicep flexing against his T-shirt. She likes the feel of his arms, so solid. Looking away she concentrates on her painting, the lighter green, the highlights. A second later, feeling his eyes on her, she turns toward him. He averts his eyes. She averts hers. Then his are back, she's sure. But when she looks, his attention is on the wall. They play this game until she whips her head to him to catch him. She does and they share a gaze for a moment.

He brushes a dab of paint on her nose, a smile behind his pressed-together lips.

"Hey!" She reaches up with her brush to get him back but he blocks her, holding her wrist.

"Let me," she says.

He shakes his head, still stifling a laugh. She's wagging and wiggling her wrist trying to get him with paint. His barely-concealed laugh lands on her lips.

Relinquishing the fight of her wrist, she tilts her head and slips her tongue to his. She kisses his jaw, his throat. He lets go of her wrist to hold her hips and as fast as she can, she steps away, drawing a line of paint from his forehead to the end of his nose.

Jumping up and down, she says, "Got you!"

Laughing, he slides the paintbrush from her fingers, puts it down beside his, and wraps her up in his arms, kissing her, moving her, collapsing onto the draped couch. The plastic rustles beneath them.

"You're getting more paint on me," she says between kisses, and he wipes his forehead and the bridge of his nose on her cheek.

"You look good in green," he says.

"You, too. Your eyes are green," she says as if he doesn't already know.

Above her, his grin falls serious. "You look good in anything." This time when he kisses her it's deep. She feels it in her lower stomach. She wants to keep feeling it, kissing him back with matching intensity.

When they kissed two days ago his stubble had scraped at her, but now his scruff has grown to a length that is softer—it almost caresses.

Both hands at her sides, he lifts her shirt as he kisses down her chest to her exposed stomach. Feeling his tongue on her skin, her abs tighten. He kisses his way back up to her lips, taking his time to kiss over her bra. She arches toward him, sliding her hands up his arms, her fingers under his sleeve. She grips.

"Bella," he says, pushing his hips into hers, followed by a groan. And they're kissing, and he's grinding, every once in a while groaning into her mouth.

Moving his weight off her, he takes off her shirt, tossing it to the ground. His fingers roam over her breasts, then he unhooks her bra and pushes it up. He glances at her eyes before his attention is back on her breasts, brushing a finger over her nipple, pressing his tongue there followed by the pull of his pursed lips.

She melts. She has no bones.

Dropping her head back, Bella closes her eyes.

Her breathing has picked up and she's trailing her fingers up his back, under his shirt feeling his skin, smooth and warm. Feeling his muscles as he moves. Kissing all over her chest, along her collarbone and to her throat—nudging her loose bra out of the way with his nose when necessary—he grinds against her a few more times.

And then he backs off.

Rising to an elbow, fingers to her throat where her pulse is strong, where his lips lay a moment ago, she asks, she croaks, "Why'd you stop?"

He doesn't answer immediately. On his knees, between her legs, he runs a hand through his hair, looking down, a quiet or secretive smile on his lips. Then, chest rising and falling, he meets her eyes. "Have to finish the tree."

Bella eyes him. There's something more to it than that. If this were the first time he's abruptly stopped, she could believe him, but this is at least the third time.

She refastens her bra and throws her shirt back on.

Pressing against his crotch, adjusting himself through his jeans, he gets up, and continues painting the tree. By the time they're finished with it, the tree looks much less realistic than it started. More like the suggestion of a tree, but beautiful, still.

Paint put away, Biter is let out of the bedroom. He goes right for his squeaky toy under the coffee table, chewing on it until the sharp sound annoys Bella and she switches it out for the rope, playing tug-of-war with him. Every time he wins, wagging his tail, he comes back, nudging her hand with the rope, asking her to play again. She does.

Edward hammers in some nails along the branches and then zig-zags blue garland across their two-dimensional tree.

Blue lights get strung next across the top of the wall, and then outside along the roof, around the windows and sliding glass door. Edward on a ladder, Bella is below guiding the string of lights to keep them from tangling. Biter watches until he gets bored and curls up on the deck.

When they're done they step back into the weeds just before the lake shore to admire the cottage—everything lit up blue in the night.

Edward moves behind Bella and circles his arms around her.

"I like it," she says, leaning against him.

Pushing her hair aside, he says, "Me, too," and presses his lips to her neck above the collar of her coat. "A lot." He drags his lips up to the spot right behind her ear.

On the way out, as Edward and Biter start to accompany Bella home, she pauses at Edward's wine barrel tree.

"I know," Edward says.

"I don't think... Edward, I think it's dead."

He nods. "I know." He rubs a hand over his face. "It was for my birthday." He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. "When i moved back here and brought it with me, Angela said it would die. She said I couldn't keep it alive without her." He shakes his head. "She didn't say it to be a bitch. Well, maybe there was some of that—you know, pissed at me for leaving—but I've killed plants before. Forgot to water them. She had to water them or they died."

"You tried so hard. You didn't let it die or kill it; it just died. Sometimes they just die."

Gripping its trunk, he rocks it back and forth and then yanks the poor, dead tree out of the barrel, roots and all. He throws it over the deck into the dirt and weeds.

Surprised by the sudden movement, Bella steps back. Catching her around the waist, Edward pulls her in to his chest. He still has faint green markings on his nose; she probably does, too. He angles his face to hers, their noses touching.

He opens his mouth like he's about to say something and she can feel his breath coming fast, probably accelerated from throwing the tree.

"Just for a second," he says, maneuvering his fingers under the shoulders of her heavy winter coat and pushing it off. He doesn't take his eyes off hers. "I want to feel you." When her coat's on the ground, he draws his fingers up her goose-bumped arms, and then brings her close again, their bodies flush between his open jacket.

He kisses her. It's a firm and wanting kiss, one that seems to be baring himself while asking for something in return, pulling from her. Whatever it is, this part of her he wants—without _deciding to—_she gives it to him, her arms reaching up around his neck. She lifts to her tiptoes to give it to him. "You can have this part of me," her kiss says. And with his deep inhale he takes it, his strong arms wrapped tight around her, his body bending over her, forcing Bella back to the balls of her feet.

A part of her is his now. She's aware of it. She's letting him keep it, knowing that while they're together they can share it, but that she'll never fully get this piece of her back. And she feels like they both understand this even though neither have spoken.

"Edward," Bella breathes, overwhelmed and pulling away, her hand over his heart, her own heartbeat flying.

Clasping her hand at his chest, he rests his forehead against hers; she feels the pressure of it and his squeezing of her fingers. "This is real, Bella." He kisses her. "It is."


	35. Bait

Word Prompt:_ Bait_

Plot Generator—Idea Completion: _Everything old is new again._

_An idea or concept is presented. Follow where it leads you._

* * *

**Something True**

**Bait**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

Bella pauses under the three birch trees and squints up at the leafless branches. Under the bright white sky they look like thin, reaching shadows.

Her cold knuckles are sore after she knocks on the hard door.

"My Little Lulu," Mrs. Cameron says, opening the door wider so Bella can step past her.

Bella has found that she can cross from whatever world she happens to be in over this threshold and get wrapped in the same comforting feeling from her childhood.

"Your cheeks are pink," Mrs. Cameron says. "Life been treating you well?"

"Sometimes. I miss you." She hugs her, the wool sweater scratchy against Bella's cheek.

"Well, I'm right here in good old Forks, honey." She pats Bella's back. "Never left. Never told you to stay away."

"Sorry."

"Drink?" Keeping one arm over her shoulder, Mrs. Cameron leads Bella to the kitchen. "I made iced tea."

Iced tea in winter, Mrs. Cameron's favorite. Bella used to drink it even when she didn't like tea, just because the thought of it was fun. She would add way too much sugar to her glass.

While Mrs. Cameron pours tea over ice, Bella leans back against the counter.

"I think I have a boyfriend."

"Sure you do, lovely girl like you." She hands Bella her glass.

"But..." Bella shakes her glass around, ice clinking.

"But?"

"I want love to be real." She says this down to her tea.

"I love you. Do you love me?"

Looking up, Bella nods.

Mrs. Cameron shrugs. "There you have it."

Bella knows it isn't that simple. She takes a long sip. "You said - you said you had a love story for me. When I was ready."

"And you're ready now?"

"Yes."

"So you are. Come on. Have a seat."

They sit in the living room, Mrs. Cameron in her glider, Bella on the floor, her back against the sofa. She's always sat on the floor here. It's her spot. She wouldn't be surprised if the carpet is faded beneath her from all the sitting she's done here over the years.

"I was twelve when I got the first note," Mrs. Cameron says as she begins to glide. "I saw a corner of the paper sticking out from under a ceramic garden frog. It said:_ I love you, Marion Nobel_. He'd spelled my last name wrong."

She pauses for a laugh and Bella joins her.

"I thought, 'Who would write something like that, yet not know how to spell my last name?' I went through the list of boys I knew. Couldn't figure it out. Well, I didn't have to wonder too long. Next day, he showed up at my door with a single pink rose. His cheeks matched, let me tell you, and I bet mine did, too.

"We continued to leave silly little notes for each other. He always left mine under the frog, and I left his under a planter on his front porch. Just the corners of the paper would stick out from underneath to alert us. After that we were inseparable. We talked about everything together. We made future plans together. We cried together. His parents were divorcing, and divorce in 1951 was not the common thing it is today. He'd never let me see him cry before, and then and there, at fourteen years old, I decided we were soul mates.

"In high school, he started playing football. I went to every game possible.

"He gave me this circle pin. Back then they stood for going steady and your virginity. You weren't supposed to wear it if you were no longer a virgin.

"Well, he kept getting better and better at football, and his physique really filled out. He looked twenty at seventeen. Me? I still looked about fourteen. These girls, they made their interest in him very clear. You might be able to guess that he didn't discourage their advances.

"He told me we had to break up. I just wasn't right for him anymore. I couldn't understand why not. I was still the same person I'd always been, the person who had always been just right for him. It took me a long time to learn that that was just it. I was the same person, but he'd changed. It was him. He needed something else. Someone else.

"The hardest thing to do was to stop wearing that pin. I had taken it off for the wrong reason as far as I was concerned. I was still a virgin, but no longer had my one and only. I kept it on top of my dressing table for as long as I can remember. Have no idea where it is now. Don't care either." She gives a single nod of her head.

"I was an enemy of love for a long time. After all, if I couldn't rely on my best friend, the one who tucked notes in my yard for years, who could I trust?

"I couldn't so much as look at that frog anymore. One day I kicked it down the porch steps and watched it crash into pieces.

"Well you know what life taught me? You can give up on love all you want, but that doesn't mean love gives up on you." She points at Bella.

"It took me years to learn this, though. I met my Daniel. And, well, at that point, falling in love with him, I was relieved I wasn't with that old sleaze Tommy or anyone else. For if that had been the case, Daniel and I might never have been. And Bella, we needed to _be_.

"Like baby birds, we have to fall before we learn how to fly. But flying is always a possibility from the day we are born."

"Does everyone fall? Does everyone get hurt?"

"Most people. And most people hurt others as well, whether they mean to or not."

"What about the ones who mean it? How do you know?"

"The ones who mean it?"

"The ones who hurt you on purpose. How can you tell them apart from the others? How can you see it and not take the bait?"

Mrs. Cameron leans forward, her eyebrows pulling together. "Who hurt you on purpose?"

"Nobody." Bella reaches behind her, elbows bent, hands on the cushion, and pulls herself up onto the sofa.

"Who hurt you on purpose? A boy? A man?"

"That's not why I'm here."

The older woman stands up, seeming to tower over Bella. "That is why you're here. That's exactly why you're here."

Bella doesn't say a thing. She glances down at her drink sitting there condensing by her feet.

"Isabella Marie Swan."

Bella covers her face. "No, Mrs. Cameron. No one. It's over." When she swallows, she feels like she's swallowing all her insides.

She can hear Mrs. Cameron sit back down in her chair. "It doesn't appear over, honey."

"It's just stupid. Stupid choices."

"If you can't discuss it with me, I won't press. I want this to be a place you come to, not a place you avoid. You do have someone else you talk to?"

"Someone else knows."

"Someone you trust?"

Bella pulls her hands away from her face and looks into Mrs. Cameron's dark eyes. "Yes." There's a jolt in her stomach and she moves her fingers to her mouth, now covering a smile. "Yes, I do trust him." She lets out a breath that feels like no other exhale before.

"The boyfriend?"

Bella nods.

"Then I guess the next step is trusting yourself."

Bella's smile fades and she drops her hand to the sofa. This, she knows, won't come easy.

Picking up her glass from the floor she takes a diluted sip. "Can you tell me about Daniel?"

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you for reading everyone. Your reviews are very heartwarming.

Special thanks to Thimbles for looking this chapter over for me before I posted.


	36. Headway

Word Prompts:_ Headstrong, headache, headway_

_Choose one word and write what your imagination dictates. For an added challenge, include all three words in your entry._

* * *

**Something True**

**Headway**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

Biter's sleeping under Bella's window. Edward's in Seattle again, and has been for two days. Bella's uncomfortable with the fact that she doesn't like being away from him. It's bad enough when they're minutes apart between her house and the cottage, but miles and miles—he may as well be on the other side of the country.

Like at Edward's—under the piano bench, under the real Thelonious—Biter has a "place" in Bella's room. He likes it under her window. She brought his dog bed over this time so he could feel even more like it's his. If dogs even feel that way, like they belong somewhere. She's not so sure if it's the place they feel is theirs so much as the people they're with, wherever they happen to be.

She attempted to call the dog Thelonious around her dad just to make him seem less intimidating, but "Biter" is too ingrained.

As Biter sleeps, Bella sits beside him, stroking his soft fur. He's grown so big, he has to curl up tight to fit in his bed. When he's on all fours, his head nearly meets Bella's mid thigh.

It's New Year's Eve, opening night of the play. Angela's play, but also the play Edward composed for. He'll be behind the scenes, not part of the audience. He won't have to attend every performance, just the opening, and maybe the closing and after party where he might pick up another job lead or two.

He's coming home tonight, but unable to leave before ten, he won't be home until after two AM. He promised to call her at midnight and promised that they would spend all of New Year's Day together.

It isn't quite nine. Rose will be coming around to pick her up soon. Bella steps into an old black dress and reaches her arms behind her to zip it up herself. She runs a brush through her hair, leaving it straight down her back and shoulders, and glosses her lips.

She can't believe she agreed to go to a party, but she couldn't argue with Alice when she'd said how depressing it would be to stay home alone on New Year's. Although, looking at Biter, Bella thinks she could curl up next to him and not feel a smidgen of loneliness or regret.

She leafs through the four books of drawings Edward got her for Christmas: da Vinci, Michelangelo, Van Gogh, M.C. Escher.

Unsure of what to get him, and not having much money, she'd printed out a stack of blank sheet music and tied it with ribbon. In the glow of blue lights, and accompanied by kisses, they'd exchanged gifts by their painted tree.

Bella had also given Biter a new rope toy to destroy. It's sitting under his head now like a pillow.

Making sure her closet's closed and everything of any value to her is out of the dog's reach, she takes the chance of shutting him in her room. Her father's on duty tonight so she locks the house up all dark behind her and follows Rose to her car.

Rose looks too beautiful for words in a blue dress that makes her eyes look almost like sapphires.

They walk through a loud music and people filled living room Bella's never been in before. She's not sure whose house this is, never asking in case the answer might have deterred her from coming.

Alice, Lauren, and Jessica find Rose and Bella right away and walk toward the kitchen barring Bella in the middle as if they're her bodyguards. Rose has a hold of Bella's pinky, maybe just as much for her own reassurance as for Bella's. It's more than likely Royce will be here.

After chatter and a couple of beers in blue plastic cups, the other girls go off with their guys, leaving Rose and Bella in the kitchen. They stick close together.

"Swanny!" Bella hears and then feels herself getting enveloped from behind, lifted off the ground. Turning her around, Pete kisses her cheek, but when he goes for it a second time, she puts her hand on his chest and pulls her face away.

"Can't blame me for trying, not when you look like that."

Bella buttons up her coat.

"That's even worse you know," he says. "Looks like you got nothing on underneath."

"I have a boyfriend," she says.

"What?" He points upwards like he's pointing at the music. He does a little bounce of his knees to the beat.

She repeats herself, louder, too loud apparently.

"Mr. Dupree?" Quill asks from behind Pete. "Mr...?"

"Shut up-" Pete starts to say, an elbow to his friend's gut, just as Rosalie says, "Cullen."

"Your _dad_?" Quil over-exaggerates his laughter, spitting it out as if it simply can't be held back.

"My brother." Rose links her arm with Bella's. "And he'll be here soon so just—" she waves a dismissive hand at him "—scat. Go annoy someone else."

Bella wishes that were true, that Edward would be here soon, like the time he arrived home from Seattle a day early.

"Rosalie Cullen," Quil says, moving to her side, putting an arm around her shoulders. "You've grown some balls."

Looking over Bella's head, Quil drops his arm from Rose fast and steps aside. Bella turns to see Royce standing there. She's almost relieved to see him. In fact, she is relieved, until he speaks.

"Go ahead," he says to Quil. He pumps the keg and fills his cup. "Whatever. She's fair game. Kiss her in the right place and she might put out."

Rose's gaze locks on Royce. The blue of her irises shines too bright. Tears.

"Pete?" Bella says, pleading with her eyes.

"Back off. Leave 'em alone," he says. But all he gets is a "Yeah, right," from Quil and a playful shoulder shove.

Rose covers her forehead as if she has a headache.

Bella grasps Rose's fingers and leads her out the back door. "We should've gone to Seattle."

"Maybe we still can. I can drive. I've barely had one beer. We'll be there at..." She pulls her phone out of her purse. "One thirty-ish."

"Yeah, and I have to be home at one."

"Tell him you're staying at my house."

Bella shakes her head. She can't. She won't. She's done with lying to her dad. It was the whole reason she told Edward she couldn't go with him in the first place.

Pete joins them on the patio, letting the door slam behind him. "Okay. Okay, ladies." He pulls a joint out from behind his ear and holds it out in front of him with his thumb and forefinger as if he's presenting the rarest of diamonds. "Doctor's orders."

"I think you mean 'just what the doctor ordered,'" Rose says.

"Whatever works. Who's got a lighter?" He pulls one out of his back pocket. "I do." He lights it up, smokes, and passes.

Bella hesitates, passing the first time around. But eventually, on another cycle she accepts. Omitting something like this, she tells herself, is not the same thing as a blatant lie. Just like when she drinks.

"Boyfriend, Swanny? Is it true?"

She nods, blowing out the smoke, and offering the joint to Rose.

Pete lifts her chin so that Bella looks at him. Gray eyes right on hers. "Not me?"

Bella swallows, something hardening within her stomach. Something like guilt. "You never asked."

"Ego," he says, accepting the joint from Rose. "A guy can only be shut down so many times. You know?"

Bella drops her gaze.

"What if I had asked? No. Forget it. Don't answer that. Maybe if we'd had a class together or if I wasn't such a chicken-shit. Can't ever talk to you unless I'm drinking or stoned."

"I'm the same way with anyone _but_ Bella," Rose says. "Except for stoned because I don't usually... Mostly drinking. It's hard for me to talk to people other than Bella unless I'm drinking." She nods her head, already high.

Bella laughs, Rose following.

"This talk is too serious for New Year's," Pete says, despite the laughter. He takes a hit.

...

Still out back, phone in hand, Bella watches it at midnight. It lights up. Over the noise-makers and horns, the screams and whistles, and even with Rose's lips on her cheek, she hears Edward's, "Happy New Year, Bella."

Her heart leaps at his voice.

"Where are you?" she asks, hoping he's closer than she expects.

"Halfway."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Come over in the morning," he says. "First thing."

"Happy New Year, Edward."

...

Bella stands on the deck in the foggy white morning, watching the door. Biter can't be still, prancing, wagging his tail, whining when it takes three seconds too long.

Her bedroom had survived the night unscathed by him.

Edward opens the door and Biter jumps toward his legs as if in slow motion, like he knows he isn't supposed to jump up, but just can't help himself. Edward bends to pet Biter, but his eyes are on Bella.

He clasps both of her hands, attaching his lips to hers. He tastes like spearmint tooth paste. He raises their hands inline with her shoulders and then drops them down to their sides, the twine of his fingers between hers tightening.

"Hi," he says between a kiss. She can't say anything back. Releasing her fingers, he holds her hips, pulling her into the cottage. She lifts her arms up and around his neck, leaning into him, letting him hold all her weight.

"I missed you," he says, and continues the kiss, guiding her, not to the couch, but to his bedroom. He bends over her, laying her back on the bed. Biter jumps up on it with them.

"Happy New Year," he says. He won't stop kissing her long enough for her to respond and she's okay with that, holding his face to hers, feeling his smooth skin. He must have shaved this morning.

After a few more kisses, Edward rolls off of her and pats the side of the bed for Biter to lie beside him. "Okay, Buddy," he says, one arm under Biter's head, the other arm under Bella's.

She turns toward him, her face against his chest, her leg over his. "How was it?"

"Good," he says, then looks down at her. "Bad."

"Bad?"

He fingers hair from her eyes. "No Bella."

She smiles.

They take Biter outside and throw the ball for him, trying to teach him "drop." He doesn't quite get that concept yet, but the puppy treats in Bella's fist help. They play until Biter is panting and ready to go inside to lap up his entire bowl of water. He collapses on the floor by his bowl, spilled and drooled water surrounding him.

"I wrote something for you," Edward says.

Back in his room, out of an unpacked bag, Edward produces sheet music and places it on the piano. He plays his new song, pausing to laugh every once in a while.

"I wrote it at Emmett's without a piano. It needs some adjustments."

From behind, Bella hugs him around the neck. He turns, lifts her up and brings her to the bed, holding her sideways against him, her legs tented over his lap. "How was the party?"

"Bad."

She thinks about Rose, Pete, Quil, Royce. She thinks about Riley. She thinks about Angela. She thinks about her dad.

She thinks about trust and trusting herself.

"Edward, I would never cheat on... anyone." She wants to say "you," but she can't bring herself to do it. They have not yet defined themselves as anything. Maybe they won't, maybe they don't have to, but it still makes talking bluntly to him like this difficult for her.

"Not anyone?" He half-smiles.

She shakes her head.

He picks up her hand and presses his lips to the back of it, saying nothing else.


	37. Coerce

**A/N:** Today's prompt was abso-freaking-lutely perfect. I would encourage you to listen to it while reading the chapter if you can.

**One more note:** Due to real life trying and succeeding to get in the way of my writing, the next update will be on Monday.

Word Prompt:_ Coerce_

Audio-Visual Challenge—Musical Mastery: _"With or Without You" performed by 2CELLOS._

**youtube dot com / watch?v=oNtali _ cuYA (copy and paste; close all spaces and replace the "dot" with a period.)**

* * *

**Something True**

**Coerce**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

In his room, on his bed, lips to the back of her hand, he continues to kiss up her arm, over the fabric of her shirt at her shoulder, to her neck where he lingers. It tickles and relaxes at the same time.

Bella lowers herself to the bed. Edward removes her boots before toeing off his own shoes. He crawls to her side, leaning over her, finding her lips with his. Their tongues meet and press against each other, part and meet again. Bella sighs.

Edward pauses, a thumb to her cheek, caressing. "I've never kissed anyone who kisses like you."

"Like how?

"Like this..." He demonstrates, touching her lips with his, soft and then firm, soft and then firm. Or more like light and dark, like day and night, a rhythm that can steal a heartbeat.

"It drives me crazy," he says, eyes closed.

She's barely breathing and he's on top of her, pressing more rhythms into her, his hips, his mouth, his breath.

He pulls her forward to lift her shirt off, and with her hands underneath his tee she slides the fabric up until it's over his head and coming down his arms.

Discarding it to the floor, he sits back on his heels, and brings his hand to her back. She watches as she drags her fingers from his shoulders down his chest. She pauses over his heart, feeling it pound. A kiss to his shoulder and the pounding increases. By the time she's tracing the lower part of his stomach, the waistline of his jeans, he's backing her to the bed and lying over her, hands pressed to the mattress on either side of her face, his biceps tight. She glides her hands over them.

He kisses her hard enough to make her head sink into the pillow. She breathes him in. He smells of soap and spicy aftershave. Above her he feels strong and heavy and in control.

Edward runs his hands over her body, over her bra. The more he touches her, the more of her she wants him to touch.

She removes her bra. As it comes off he meets her bare breasts with his hands, with his lips, with his tongue.

Bella wraps her legs around his thighs. Her hands at his hips, she pulls him against her. She's dizzy, as though she's been spinning for hours with her arms out, careless or carefree or both.

"Bella," he says.

She does it again, pulls him against her. He catches himself with a hand to the bed.

"Bella. Wait. Wait."

"What?"

Sitting up, he turns away from her, trying to catch his breath.

It's as if the earth jerked to a stop but the dizziness doesn't go away.

"Why? Why do you always stop?"

She hears a breath of a laugh, his shoulders hunching. "I have to."

"Why?"

"Because I do."

"Why?" Like sliding rain, she trails her fingertips down his back.

"Because it's too much." He turns to face her. "Because if I don't stop, Bella, I'll want to do more."

"Do more."

He stares at her, his eyes darting between hers like she's a book he's trying to read but written in a foreign language.

"Do more." She reaches for his pants and unbuttons them, unzips them. She shoves at them and he takes them off the rest of the way.

His jeans gone, he undoes her button and his lips are on hers. Where they should be.

The earth is turning again.

He slides her zipper down. He slides his kisses down. Over her breasts, one then the other, down her stomach. His kisses don't stop as he pushes her jeans over her hips.

Bending her legs to help him get them off, she feels his mouth press against her panties, feels the pull of his lips there, and she freezes, her eyes wide on the ceiling. And it's just him, without her help, dragging her jeans down and off.

She might hear them fall to the floor, but it's hard to tell with the way her heart is beating in her ears.

Meeting her face again, his lips to hers, he streams his fingertips down her thigh between her legs.

"I'm doing more now," he says as he slips his hand beneath the cotton.

She feels a finger press against her and then slide slow. She closes her eyes, welcoming his tongue back into her mouth, grasping his shoulder tight.

He continues the tease of his fingers, and her hips start to rise and fall on their own.

"Edward," she whispers. "Edward." She turns her face and he moves his kiss across her cheek to her ear, and down the side of her neck. His tongue on skin, his fingers... one of them slipping inside, slipping back out. Circling.

Her breath shakes. Her muscles tighten. She swallows a moan, but another one comes. Lips on her breasts, and more moans, more shaky breaths. Another, "Edward," from her mouth, until she doesn't know what she's doing, or what she's saying. Everything drains from her head except for the feeling of him all over her. He's everywhere.

He's on her stomach. His fingers are inside her. And she's squeezing the comforter to death in her fists.

He kisses her lips even though she's too far gone to kiss back. He holds her around the waist, pulling her body into his, his thumb trailing back and forth over her stomach. But he's only still with her for a moment before he's getting up.

"Where are you going?" She peers up at him standing over her.

"Bathroom. I'll be back in five."

"Why five?"

"Bella." He laughs and shakes his head. "I need a shower. Stop asking questions."

Remaining on her back, she reaches out to him, tucking a finger into his waistband, tugging him forward. He takes one step closer.

"Shower? Right now?" She runs a hand down the front of his boxers.

He's frozen.

The next time she brushes over his boxers, she hesitates, then lingers and presses where she feels him hard against her hand. His eyes close.

"Can it wait?" she asks.

"What?"

"The shower." She curves her hand around him through the material. Her heart races and her body gets so hot she starts to perspire because she's not exactly sure what to do.

"Yes," he barely says, face to the ceiling, hips pushing into her touch.

"Off?"

He pulls his boxers down.

She takes him, smooth, into her palm. Hardly touching him, she slides her hand up and down, her fingers stroking. His breathing stops and starts again, a deep breath in, a deep breath out.

He moves his hand to hers. For a second, she thinks he's going to push her away, but instead he covers her hand so that she's holding tighter as she strokes. When his hand falls away she keeps her grip firm even if it feels a little rough to her.

"Mm," a low grunt comes from his chest and shoots into her stomach. "Mm." And like he's lost strength, he drops his hands to the bed, his head down. As his breathing becomes heavier and heavier and his hips move with her strokes, warmth and wet spills into her hand.

Dreamy-eyed, he leans over her for a kiss before he picks his shirt up off the floor. He wipes her palm with it. Closing the material around her hand, he cleans her fingers.

She's having trouble looking him in the eye, though he doesn't seem to be looking away from hers. She's pretty sure he liked it, but she can't kid herself into believing that Angela couldn't have done it better.

But then, a knee to the bed, Edward moves his body over her, lies on top of her, all of his weight on her and kisses her neck about a dozen times. Kisses until she starts laughing, insecurities drifting away. He laughs, too. Laughs and kisses her.

"Were you really going to take a shower?" She skims her fingers up his spine.

"Yeah."

"To...?"

"Yes." Rolling to his side, he lifts his arm around her head on the pillow. He strums her hair at her temple like he would guitar strings.

"Edward, talk to me."

"This is talking."

"What were you thinking?"

He sighs and his face falls serious. "I wasn't going to ask you to. I don't know what all... went down with you and... I don't—I didn't want to push you."

"But wasn't that better than a shower alone?"

He appears to be holding back a smile. He drops his forehead to her shoulder. "That's one way to put it." He kisses her arm, sliding the kiss up, around, and across her shoulder to the base of her neck.

She shrinks away at the tickle.

His tongue followed by lips, he drags the kiss along her chin to her mouth.

"Bella," he says. "I can't believe it's still only morning."

"Today's just starting." Bella glances to the window. Through the frost she can see snow coming down. "And it's freezing out there."

"But not in here." He wraps his arms around her. All of his skin. Warm. Hot.

She snuggles toward him, resting her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, her leg between his. "Not in here."


	38. Perforate

**A/N: **Because the first prompt was a 500 word blurb, I decided to add Saturday's prompt to this chapter as well, which starts at the first break. I figured after three days off, you all deserved more than 500 words.

First Word Prompt: _Perforate_

Plot Generator—Binding Blurb: _In 500 words or fewer, write a blurb or a short entry about self-denial._

Second Word Prompt: _Bubbly_

* * *

**Something True**

**Perforate**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

A knitted shawl covering her shoulders, Mrs. Cameron steps over the threshold.

Edward offers the old woman his hand. He meant it as a greeting but she uses it to help her into the house.

"Nice to meet you." He sounds confident. So different from a few days ago when Bella had invited him to dinner to officially meet her dad and Mrs. Cameron. "Great," he'd said. "The dad and the grandma-lady at the same time." He'd even joked about the pressure when he arrived this evening. But now he appears relaxed. She's not sure if he really is comfortable or just acting.

Bella and her dad baked a chicken and broccoli casserole, neither one of them talking about how it's her mother's recipe, though it was probably on her dad's mind as much as it was on Bella's.

Bella sets the table, Charlie serves the casserole, and Mrs. Cameron sits at one end of the table talking about a knitting project. She's heading a charity event, knitting blankets, hats, and booties for newborns and preemies.

As they eat dinner, they learn that Mrs. Cameron 's goal with her Senior group is several hundred sets ready for delivery by March. "I could use another helper," she says, looking at Bella with a gleam in her eye. Bella recognizes that look. There's more to the story than Mrs. Cameron is revealing.

"I can help you," Bella says, scooping chicken and broccoli onto her fork. Taking a bite, she thinks of all the times Mrs. Cameron has helped her, no hesitation, sometimes no questions asked. This is the least she can do.

"It's a lot of work," Mrs. Cameron says. "Time consuming."

"Now, hold on a minute, Marion," Bella's dad says, each firm word perforating the air. "This can't interfere with her studies."

"Which is why I would only ask for her help on weekends."

Bella looks at Edward, and while she'd spent the first part of dinner trying not to blatantly get caught in his gaze, she's now disappointed that his eyes are trained on his plate. She swallows her bite and dabs at her lips with her napkin. Her dad has given her an out. All it would take is to admit she's already behind at school.

But when she looks at Mrs. Cameron's face, into her eyes, watching as she coughs, Bella can't bring herself to use any excuse. "I can do both. I can - I can help."

"If you're sure," her dad says.

This time as she looks across the table, she finds Edward's eyes on hers and gives him an apologetic head-tilt. "I'm sure."

"She's a good girl," Mrs. Cameron says covering Bella's hand with her own. "You've raised yourself a good girl."

"By some miracle," he says.

Bella can't help her small smile. Across from her, Edward smiles back at her with a shake of his head as if he's not quite sure why he's smiling.

"Go on up and get your artwork," her dad says. "Show Marion what you've been up to."

...

Out front Bella pulls Edward to the side of the house. No lights or windows there, the Sequoia behind them shrouding them further from the weak light of the moon hidden somewhere in the sky.

"I'm not fragile," she says, kissing him, her hands resting at his waist, under his open jacket.

"What?" he asks.

"I heard what my dad said. Don't listen to him." She smiles as she says it, trying to sound bubbly and unaffected.

She'd figured out the real reason her dad had sent her to her room. On her way back downstairs Bella heard him telling Edward about her fragile state and basically threatening him to be good to her, to be_ careful _with her. Her first instinct was to yell at her dad to shush and stay out of her business. Edward already knew all of that. He didn't need it reiterated by her father, didn't need every fragile moment he's witnessed brought back to the surface. Instead she had chosen to ignore it, showing off her drawings as requested.

"I'm not made of glass. Or if I am, it's very durable." Even as she says it she isn't completely convinced.

"I know," Edward says, clutching her arms through her jacket and kissing her back. "I can tell." He does seem convinced and that's all she needs.

She breaks the kiss. "I'm sorry about the knitting thing."

"We'll still see each other."

"But I-I'm behind at school. I have to really catch up so I don't disappoint my dad."

"There's still nights. She can't expect you to knit all night, can she?"

"My fingers would fall off."

He squeezes her fingers. "I have music to make anyway." With a hand to her cheek, he draws her to his lips, stepping forward, backing her up against the side of the house. "We'll work it out."

Parting his lips, he stills his mouth, pausing there for a second too long. Breaths mingle. Bella has to move. She brushes her tongue to his. A low hum comes from him and her stomach jumps. Sliding her hands under his shirt, she sweeps up and down his back and then around to his stomach where her fingertips press, feeling his inhale.

She remembers lying in his bed, his hand on her breast, between her legs, his mouth there, too, before nerves had her guiding his face back to hers.

"Bella." He takes her fingers from his stomach. "This is-" His breath is heavy against her face, her lips. "I want this too much. We're in the wrong place."

She lifts up to continue the kiss. He groans into her mouth.

Warming each other up this way on cold nights is becoming a regular thing for them. Their heated breath, bodies, lips, turn the icy wind into a relief instead of a deterrent.

"God, I'm going to miss you." He clasps both her hands, weaving their fingers, pushing his hips into hers, crushing her against the house.

It feels good, all of this. Him. No space between them. His strong body pressed against hers, the rigid wall at her back. But it especially feels good to hear him say he'll miss her even after talking about nights together. He wants more than nights with her.

How much time would he want with her if the choice was his?

Gathering her courage, she asks him. He drops his face to her neck, his laugh nothing but breaths on her skin.

Whatever the laugh means, she doesn't know, but it makes her feel embarrassed for asking the question. "What?"

"All of it," he says. "All of it, Bella."

But how else, she asks herself, is he supposed to answer a question like that? She wishes she could take the question back even if it means not knowing the answer.

She attempts to swallow her doubts of him, doubts of herself. Closing her eyes she blocks out the night, the world, everything but Edward, raising her face back to his kiss.

Tightening his arms around her, he welcomes her lips.

She chooses not to be fragile.

She chooses to believe him.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you for reading, everyone!

And thank you to Vampshavelaws and Mercyrus Tales for rec'ing this story at The Lemonade Stand. If you feel like voting, or are looking for some great rec's, check out the poll: tehlemonadestand dot net


	39. Tissue

**A/N**: Thank you so much for your support and sticking with me. Once again, life won't allow me the time to update tomorrow. Back to regularly scheduled programming on Thursday. ;)

Word Prompt: _Tissue_

Dialogue Flex: _"She'll never agree to that."_

_Using the provided snippet of dialogue, explore what comes to mind, be it a scene, a thought, or something else._

* * *

**Something True**

**Tissue**

* * *

_**This Winter  
**_

* * *

On the floor in Mrs. Cameron's living room, a glass of iced tea beside her crossed legs, Bella knits tiny hats in variegated yarn of blues, greens, or pinks. The hats for the preemies look like doll hats. She can't imagine them fitting a baby.

"You'd be surprised," Mrs. Cameron says. "Those hats will be too big for some of the newborns."

Bella places a finished green and white hat in her open hand. Its circumference is barely bigger than her palm. "Really?"

"Really."

...

Nights with Edward are bliss. Bella has come to prefer night to day. Day is a spotlight on everything, including what she doesn't want to face. Night is a dissolving of the unwanted into darkness and shadows. In the night, everything that the sunlight points out melts, even if temporarily.

Much of her time without Edward is spent distracted by daydreams of moments they will spend together or have spent together: playing with Biter, laughing, making out, exploring bodies.

Edward is composing for a short animated film that will end a documentary on environmental conservation to educate kids. A little girl holds a miniature earth in her hands and tries to take care of it, nurture it. In his studio room, Edward plays his music for Bella and it sounds just like tinkling raindrops and beating sun, like nurturing nature.

"I don't think I ever could have created this living in the city," he says, reaching for her, sliding his hands up and down her sides before pulling her to his lap. He brushes hair out of his way and kisses the side of her face.

She sighs, content as usual here, in the night, with his music playing and his lips on her skin.

...

On her desk is a mess of papers, on her deskchair a stack of books. Bella's studying on her bed when her dad taps a knuckle against her bedroom door and nudges it open. "Talked to your mom lately?"

She left a few messages that Bella never bothered returning. "Nope."

"Neither have I."

"Is that weird?" She would think that not talking to her mother would be a regular thing for him.

"She usually calls to check up on you." Curved lines crease his eyes making them appear more rounded than normal. He looks worried.

"Should I call her?"

"Might be a good idea."

Her call goes straight to voicemail.

Two nights later, still no word from her mother, Bella asks Edward to drive her to Port Angeles. It's their time together and they'll spend most of it in a car.

Her mother greets them in sweats and a T-shirt. Her hair is in a pile on top of her head. She has bags under her eyes and no makeup on. Her smile is fake.

There are still unpacked boxes piled against a living room wall.

"Who's this?" She motions to Edward.

"This is my-" Bella pinches his coat sleeve. "Rose's brother. Edward. He gave me a ride."

Edward raises his eyebrows at Bella. She looks away.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't have any food to offer you."

Bella opens the refrigerator. Aside from some condiments, coffee creamer, a block of ugly cheese, it is nearly empty.

"What have you been eating?"

"It's just me. I go down to the deli or get take-out when I need it."

One thing Bella is sure of is how much her mother likes to cook. Bella's dad used to tease her mother about always cooking too much food for the three of them.

"Just you? What about...?"

"Phil? Oh, no, he's..." She brings a shaky hand to her lips. "He's staying." She nods.

"Staying where?"

"With his—you know—where he belongs." She's blinking back tears. One by one, her follow-up words seem to shatter her voice. "I'll be back in a minute. You two, make yourselves at home. Edward, it was..." She disappears down the short hall. A door closes.

Edward and Bella look at each other for a moment before Bella removes her coat and starts emptying boxes. Without a word, Edward starts helping. They place towels in a small linen closet, mixing bowls in the cabinet over the sink, and candlesticks on the small dining table.

Before starting on a new box, Bella lifts a finger to Edward in a gesture to tell him she'll be right back. She opens her mother's bedroom door.

Her mother is lying face down on her bed.

It's as though Bella's looking at her through gossamer film—her mother, skewed.

"When did he tell you he wasn't leaving his wife?"

She sits up on the bed.

Spotting a tissue box on the bedside table, Bella hands it to her.

"He didn't tell me." She sweeps a tissue from the box and dabs at her eyes. "It got pretty obvious when he kept putting it off because of this, that, or the other."

While one part of Bella wants to tell her mother she's getting her just desserts, the other part of Bella doesn't want to leave her mother alone like this. She contemplates bringing her home, but her mother will never agree to that. Her dad wouldn't appreciate it much either.

In the end, Bella lets her mother wallow in her bed while she and Edward empty a few more boxes.

On the car ride home, Bella tells Edward about her mother's situation, about how Phil was planning on leaving his wife, but isn't.

"I hate Phil. But this is even worse. This way it was all for nothing." Her family ripped at every seam, and for nothing.

Edward joins their hands. She wriggles hers away and tries to ignore the weight of Edward's ensuing glances.

She peers out the window into the night. Her feelings have become too solid in form. She watches and waits for her emotions to fade into shadow.

She waits for it still as they pull up into her driveway. She waits as Edward kisses her cheek and hugs her to his chest on her doorstep. She waits, and nothing changes until sleep is powerful enough and generous enough to take her out of this world.


	40. Glide

Word Prompt: _Glide_

View the Audio-Visual Challenge—Imagined Image here :

fictionistaworkshop dot com /witfit/ 2013-05-09/

* * *

**Something True**

**Glide**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

Bella didn't volunteer the information about her mother to her dad. It was he who came to find her a few days later. Under the bright porch light, out on the back patio where she sat in a deck chair drawing their snow-covered yard, he asked about her visit.

When she told him, she tried to gauge his expression, but to no avail. He didn't look sad, angry, or satisfied. He looked blank. And that—blankness—was something Bella could relate to.

Some emotions are built of too many different feelings to describe. A pyramid of feelings that preserves everything in its center but leaves almost nothing at the top.

It's going on two weeks since Bella has spent any significant time with Edward. The time they have spent together has felt charged but changed. Bella tried to ignore the air that had become like an electric wall between them.

Last weekend, the weekend after the trip to see her mother in Port Angeles, Edward was in Seattle again for the closing of the play.

He hadn't asked Bella to watch Biter, though Bella got to see Biter when she hung out with Rose.

In his room, Edward removes his phone from his back pocket and tosses it on his bed before sitting at the piano bench to play Bella his newest song. Bella loves when he plays his music like this, at its most raw—the way he pauses and laughs in between certain keys when he discovers something that sounds wrong to him or that he doesn't like. She likes it all.

He turns around and asks her what she thinks. She moves to the piano and bends to kiss him. There's his answer.

He lifts his hand to meet her jaw. "That good?"

"Mm-hmm." She glides her fingertips down the side of his face and neck. "I have something to show you."

Over by the bedroom door, she unzips her backpack and pulls out her acceptance letters for University of Washington and Florida State.

She hands them to Edward. "Nothing from the California schools yet."

He stares at one letter for some time, his eyebrows knitting. "Which one is your number one?" He holds the letters out to her, his eyebrows still tense.

His vibrating phone steals their attention. On his comforter it's lit up with Angela's picture. Edward and Bella look at each other. Edward's eyes are wide. Bella motions to the phone as it vibrates again.

"Gonna get that?"

"N-no."

Bella doesn't take her eyes off his as he leaves the piano bench to pick up the phone, hiding it in his back pocket.

"She still..." Bella swallows. Her skin is heating, her heart pounding.

He looks reluctant, but nods. "Sometimes. Not, I mean, not a lot."

"Because... about the play? But it's over. Is there another play?" Bella knows she's grasping at straws.

"No."

"So then, why does she call?" Bella slips her thumbnail between her lips.

"I wouldn't know. I don't answer."

"No messages?"

"Just to call her back. But I don't." The last three words tumble out too fast, like he's on the defensive and it just makes Bella more anxious.

"Why didn't you tell me your ex-girlfriend still calls you?" Her nerves tighten into anger. "She is your ex, right?"

He tilts his head. "Bella."

"Okay." Bella puts her coat on and stuffs her letters into her backpack."I have to go."

"No." Edward's already moved to block the doorway.

"No?"

"I hardly get to see you. You're not leaving just because Angela called. The calls mean nothing."

"To you?"

"Yeah. They mean nothing to me."

"But they mean something to her," Bella says. "And to me."

Bella tugs at his shoulder until he moves out of her way. She heads toward the front door where Edward steps in front of her again.

"It's my fault she calls me?"

"Let me go."

He looks at her for a while and then opens the door for her. She walks out.

Minutes later she can hear Edward and Biter behind her. She keeps walking and they keep their distance. At her house, Edward calls her name.

She turns around.

"You don't trust me? Not even with a phone call?"

"How many phone calls?"

"I don't count them. Not that many."

If there was a need to count them, there must have been more than a few.

"What about New Year's Eve?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"I didn't spend New Year's with her."

"Did you talk to her?"

"She was in the play."

"So...?"

"So I said 'Hi' to her, 'how are you,' that kind of thing. That's it, Bella."

She wants to believe him. It kills her that she doesn't. It makes tears meet her eyes.

"Shit." He takes a step closer. "I swear to you, Bella. God. I swear. Nothing more than 'how are you.' Is this all about Angela's call?"

"And the Biter thing."

"What Biter thing?"

"You didn't ask me to watch him and I don't know why. And after that thing with my mom, you've been different."

"Different, how?"

"Like distant. Disconnected."

"_You_ were distant. I was following your lead. I was trying not to make things worse for you."

She closes her eyes to keep the tears back.

Warm fingers meet her cheek. A quiet voice. "Bella? I've been thinking that maybe—are you not ready for this?"

"For what?"

"A boyfriend. Me. With an ex-girlfriend I have no control over."

Bella opens her eyes and glares at him. The first time he calls himself her boyfriend and it's to let her go. "Oh, okay." She steps away from his touch. "I know how this goes."

"You know how this goes?"

"Yeah."

"How does it go?"

"You dump me for my own good."

"Nobody's dumping anybody."

"No, because you'll wait for me." Her hands are shaking and she hides them behind her back.

"If you want me to wait for you, I'll wait for you."

"Yeah. We're not breaking up. We're just on pause, right? Until the next pretty girl crosses your path."

"What? All right. Are you talking to me right now?" This time he takes a step back. Two steps, as he leans forward and points to himself.

"You're standing in front of me, aren't you?"

"But this is about _him_. Not me. Are you even hearing me? Or are you hearing him? Listen to me. I want you, Bella," he says, and it sounds angry. "Whether or not you believe it, I want you. Not her. You." He comes closer again holding her face in both of his hands. "_You_," he says softer.

He presses his lips to her forehead and then turns and walks away with Biter.

...

Edward on her mind, she hardly sleeps. She sees him in those last few seconds before he kissed her forehead and walked away. She hears his voice—harsh and then soft—and what he said.

She's been so unfair to him. She is not the only one of the two of them who has been hurt, yet he trusts Bella. When the sun finally begins to rise and light up her bedroom on Sunday morning, Bella is relieved. She showers, dresses, and heads to Edward's. She'll make it up to Mrs. Cameron later for missing their knitting session.

Edward also appears as if he hasn't slept. He's in the same jeans and T-shirt he wore last night. His hair looks soft, but like the wind has been whipping at it.

Biter gets up from his spot in the kitchen and pants over to Bella. He spreads out in a heap at her feet.

"Worn out," Edward says. "Just ran him down playing fetch."

"This early?"

Edward shrugs. He tucks his fingertips into the front pockets of his jeans. "So, you're here," he says.

Taking off her coat, she walks over to the couch and deposits it on a cushion. Biter follows, lying at her feet again. "I haven't been fair to you. And after what Angela did to you, you at least deserve fair."

"Hey, you have nothing to do with Angela."

"Just... last night, what happened. It's not your fault. It's me. It's the liars in my life. Me, my mom, Riley. He tricked me bad, Edward. He was so nice to me at first. Sometimes as nice as you are. But then he was the opposite. And now I - I'm so scared all the time."

"Scared of me?"

"Yes." She nods.

"Afraid I'm lying to you?"

"Sometimes. When I think too much. Yeah."

"Tell me what to do so you're not scared. You're so closed off." Placing his hands on her shoulders, he ducks his head to her level, eyes locking with hers. "Let me in."

She looks down at Biter who's still breathing heavy even in his sleep. "I need you to tell me things without me asking you," she says. "When I have to ask, it makes me feel like any answer I get is not the truth, but just like... you being nice, not wanting to hurt my feelings or something."

He rubs his fingers over his eyes. "Okay, that's... expressing myself with music is easy, but I'm not that good at talking. That's why I write you songs, you know? I might not say the right thing and I don't know what you want to hear and what you don't want to hear. You gotta help me with that, Bella."

"I just want what's true. Every bit of the truth. About you, about us. About what you want from all of this." She gestures between herself and Edward. "Because when the truth finds me on its own it makes me doubt everything. And if all you want is something temporary or if you aren't sure, tell me that, too. I need to know."

He tugs on her T-shirt at her waist. "You want to know what I want from this? I told you last night and it was the truth. I want you. I want you to be my girl. Not temporarily. You want to get away from this place, you talk to me about college, but I don't want you to go any farther than Seattle. You going far away scares _me._"

Her tears blur him up and her throat swells. He wraps his arms around her waist drawing her close. After a second he pulls back and looks down at her. "Okay..."

She watches his throat swallow.

"Here's the whole truth. I love you, Bella. Do you believe me?"

She buries her forehead in his chest. He threads his fingers through the back of her hair. "Believe me," he says and kisses the top of her head.

"How do you know for sure?"

He sighs. Fingers at her jaw, he raises her face to meet his eyes. "I don't know how to explain it. You're in my gut. Okay? When you're close, I want you closer. I look at you and think _she's_ with _me_." He places his hand on his chest. "You talk about getting away from here and I think of you leaving, going far away, and it crushes me." He scrunches his eyes tight, his eyelids creasing like he's being crushed at this very moment. With eyes still closed he kisses her. He whispers, "I know I love you because you—your voice—your _breath_ is like the same thing as my heartbeat." His forehead falls to rest on hers.

Warm tears drip down her cheeks. She lifts to kiss his face, his lips next, and their kisses grow fast and strong as she tries to breathe. "Edward."

"Why are you crying?" He thumbs under her eyes, wiping tears. "Happy, I hope."

She nods though she can't even smile. "I don't know how to - where to - how to do this." She grabs on to the neck of his shirt.

"All you have to do is let me love you. You let me in. I let you in. And everyone else from the past is out. Nobody here's a liar."

"Okay."

He takes her top lip between his. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

His mouth opens on hers and he kisses deeper, pulling her hips into him.

_Nobody here's a liar._

A sob runs through her and then she's kissing him as deeply as he's kissing her, lifting her hands to his cheeks. He's holding her body to his and she's holding his face to hers. And it's right.

It's true.


	41. A Sure Thing

Word Prompt: _Tote_

Plot Generator—Phrase Catch: _It's a sure thing._

* * *

**Something True**

**A Sure Thing**

* * *

_**This Winter**_

* * *

When they release each other, Edward clasps Bella's hand, leading her to his bedroom. At the end of the bed, Bella stops.

He kisses her cheek where a tear used to be.

He kisses her lips after that like he can't help it and like he isn't going to stop, while his hands roam. Beginning at her shoulders he runs his hands down, around the curve of her breasts, pausing at her sides. He lifts her shirt off, followed by his own.

Brushing over her bra, his touch is soft and then pressing. He lets his fingers fall down her bare skin, kissing her shoulder and up her neck over her jaw, her cheek, to her lips. His kisses are all rough until he reaches her lips where they soften. They're slow kisses, so slow they could last for days.

Bella explores his body too, his stomach, his ribs, his chest—heart pounding underneath.

He stops and looks at her. Pulling the cup of her bra down, he presses parted lips and the tip of his tongue to her breast. He unhooks the clasp at her back and drags bra straps down her arms. Material falls.

She embraces his neck, sighing, a small moan.

His knuckles press into her stomach as he unbuttons her jeans. He slides them down and she steps out. She does the same for him, unbutton, unzips, pushes denim down.

Bella in nothing but panties, Edward in nothing but boxers, he reaches around her hips, squeezing, lifting her up and against him. Her feet actually lift off the ground for a second and she feels him, his hardness. She gasps or whimpers or moans. Or all three at once.

He says her name and places open-mouthed kisses all over her skin, bending to kiss anywhere he can. Kissing slowly her chest, a line down her stomach, her hips, her thighs. Weaving her fingers through his hair, she lets her head fall back, face to the ceiling, just feeling what he's doing to her, whatever he wants. This isn't having sex, not yet, but even if she's standing up, this has to be what's meant by making love.

A ribbon of sunlight stretches across the bed and then across Bella as Edward lays her down. Using her forearms, Bella scoots herself higher on the bed, Edward crawling after her, holding her waist.

With her palms to his lower back, she pulls him between her legs. He drops his hands from her waist to the mattress, steadying himself. He grinds into her. Then again.

Rolling over, Edward guides Bella on top of him, her knees on either side of his hips. He rubs her against him, squeezing her thighs, sliding her forward and back.

She's holding tight to his shoulder, leaning over him, kissing. Another pull at her hips and rub from him, and her hand slips down his chest, her kiss faltering. A low sound comes from his throat.

"God, Edward," she says against his mouth.

"I know. You feel so fucking good." He lifts his head to continue their kiss.

Bella can't feel anything but him and she's losing her mind. With her hand still on his chest and their kiss, and his breath in her mouth, she understands what he meant when he said her breath was the same thing as his heartbeat. She understands.

Tears sting her eyes, but she blinks them away.

He draws his hands up to her breasts and she continues the circling of her hips on her own. She can't help herself.

With a groan he turns Bella onto her back again.

Running his fingers down her stomach to her panties, he presses with his middle finger. With a gasp she grips his shoulder and pushes her head back into her pillow. Every breath is shallow.

Bending her knees, she lets her legs fall open. The smallest quirk at the corner of his mouth and he dips his hand inside her panties. She sighs, her eyes closing, her hips lifting toward his finger.

Taking the straps of her panties, he slips them down her thighs and off the ends of her toes. Kiss after kiss over her body, sometimes tongue, sometimes a nibble, he makes his way up to her lips.

"Do you want this?" He slides his hand up her side toward her ribs, his lips not leaving hers.

She listens to the sounds their lips make when they pull and release, feels the warmth and tingle of his tongue on hers. She takes in a gasp of a breath and keeps the kiss going, trailing her hands up and down his smooth back.

"You want this?"

She doesn't realize she hasn't answered his question. Until he repeated it, she didn't even remember that he asked it.

"Yes." It's a whisper.

He reaches for a drawer and grabs a condom. He places it on her chest, asking her to open it. She does and hands it to him.

She watches the flex of his bicep as he puts all his weight on his arm to slide his condom on.

He's between her legs and she's pulling on his hips.

"Bella," he says, voice strained, as he enters her, the shape of her name moving from his lips to hers.

The pain shocks her and she stiffens. She hadn't expected it to hurt. She thought that was only supposed to happened the first time.

He pauses. "You okay?"

She relaxes. "Yeah. Yes." She tugs at him and he starts moving again.

After a little while the pain eases and she feels what she's supposed to feel, like nothing she's ever felt before.

She's out of her head. Her mind is spiraling toward some other world.

He kisses her like he needs her, touches her like she's his to touch, moves in her like nothing is more important than her in this moment, in this bed, under his body. The noises that come from him emphasize everything inside her and she realizes that once again she was wrong. This is making love.

"I've never felt this," she whispers or maybe just thinks it. It's hardly audible.

"Me neither." Another whisper, all breath, and Bella's heart races.

Too much feeling, she turns her head to the side with a gasp to catch her breath. He kisses her temple and then just below her cheekbone, all the while moving with her.

She grabs on to his arms. Squeezes

He groans as he speeds his movements, holding her thigh and then running his hand up her side to her shoulder.

Her breathing is sporadic until it stops. The room disappears. The bed, the house, everything's gone. She's nowhere.

"Bella?" A kiss to the side of her head. "Bella?" A kiss to her cheek. "Are you here?"

Opening her eyes she turns her face to his. "I don't know."

She smiles and he smiles back, wide and happy, tired eyes glistening.

Falling to his side, he pulls her with him, her body flush to his, sticky stomach to sticky stomach, leg to leg.

Fingers run down her spine, shivers run up.

They talk in quiet voices, almost whispers, like they don't want to wake themselves from this dream.

Bella caresses the scruff on his jaw and trails her thumb across his cheek. They don't look away from each other's eyes.

"When did you know you would be a composer?"

"Birth."

"Really?"

"No." He laughs, shaking his head. He kisses her forehead. "I think I knew music had me after I played the piano for the first time in front of an audience and people clapped for me."

"How old were you?"

"Nine. I played some easy version of the Charlie Brown theme song. But it was different because it wasn't like I wanted to keep playing for an audience. I wanted other people playing my songs. Like I was playing Guaraldi's."

"Then what happened?"

"And then..." He rolls to his back, his arm around her shoulder, his fingers moving along her arm. "Um... when I was about fifteen my piano instructor let me compose my own piece. He liked it enough to have me compose a few more, and he composed some, and that show was all original songs. So that was it. After that I knew what I was."

Bella relaxes to her back, her neck resting against Edward's arm, her hand holding his over her shoulder. Both of them gaze up at the ceiling. "That's kind of perfect." She slides her fingers between his, up and down, linking and unlinking and linking again.

"What about you?" he asks. "What was little Bella like? You got dirty all the time, didn't you?"

"No."

"Muddy."

She laughs. "No." She elbows his side. "I wore dresses and ribbons in my hair."

"But what were you like?"

"I was probably dreaming of a way to get away from my family. When I was ten I used to think if I could just get into the mailbox, I might be mailed somewhere. Somewhere better. Like that was all it took to be mailed, get in the box."

"You were sad?"

"Sometimes. I got used to it I guess, so it wasn't consuming. Or maybe it was. Maybe that's what consuming is."

He hugs her close and kisses her head. "You tear at my heart."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth. I thought you wanted the truth."

"Okay. Say it. But anyway, I'm not sad right now."

"Me neither." His deep voice vibrates through his chest to her ears.

"You said that before."

"Yeah... speaking of that. Bella, was this your first time?"

She draws her fingers up his side and stops with her palm to his chest. "No. But my first time was fast. And weird."

"That sounds right."

She's sure her version of fast and weird is a lot different than his.

They stay in bed all day, only getting up to feed Biter, let him out to pee and run, and to pet him a little. She pulls his soft ears through her hands. She's on her knees and he's sitting, and they're face to face. He's so big. She imagines he's close to full-grown. More of his legs are covered in tan now. She hopes the rest of him remains black.

"I like you naked in my living room," Edward whispers from behind her. "But still—" Stealing Bella away from Biter, Edward practically totes her by the waist back to bed.

She isn't exactly naked, but she's mostly naked. She's wearing her bra and underwear, and Edward's in his boxers.

"Can I watch Biter every time you have to go away from now on?" She asks, climbing under the sheets.

Edward meets her in the middle, lying on his side, dropping his arm over her waist, tracing her skin. "Yeah. I didn't know that would—" he breathes a laugh or a scoff through his nose "—All that with your mom. I thought I was helping by asking Rosalie."

"We're lazy," she says, dropping her head to the pillow.

"Finally."

He buries his face in her chest and she wraps her arms around his head, trapping him there.

"Let's save this day no matter what, Edward."

"It's ours," he says.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading and all the beautiful reviews! Just to give you an idea on length, I have six more chapters outlined.


	42. Hurt

There were a few questions last chapter about Bella losing her virginity. Reminder: Pete, Ch. 24

Word Prompt: _Hurt_

Dialogue Flex: _"I made an interesting discovery."_

Using the provided snippet of dialogue, explore what comes to mind, be it a scene, a thought, or something else.

* * *

**Something True**

**Hurt**

* * *

_**This Winter into Spring**_

* * *

Whenever Edward or Bella say the word "walk," Biter jumps up from wherever he may be and prances over to the one who said the word.

He waits with a wagging tail for his leash to be clipped on.

Sometimes he gets to run around without his leash. Edward gives this loud, high-pitched, double-whistle to keep Biter from getting into the lake. The dog preoccupies himself with bugs and critters in the dirt. He's more often than not trotting around with his nose to the ground, his tail high in the air.

He is certainly the cutest dog Bella has ever known. Sometimes she hugs him around his neck, and Biter will tolerate it for a little while before squirming away.

"Remember when you used to try to bite my face off?" she asks Biter, sitting on the wood floor nose to nose with him.

"Be careful with your face that close," Edward says. "He's still a puppy."

Bella stands and puts her arms around Edward's waist. She's only stopped by here on her way to Mrs. Cameron's. This is their last weekend before the deadline. Deliveries go out in three days.

Edward and Bella kiss a little, stopping before things get out of hand. They can do that later tonight, let things get out of hand.

Sighing, Edward relaxes his forehead against Bella's. He grabs his keys and Biter's leash, and they all go to his car. He'll drive Bella to Mrs. Cameron's, and stay for pastries while Biter chews on his dog bone out back

"I love having kids around again," Mrs. Cameron says, serving them apple fritters and milk. "I thought maybe one of these days Jared would give me a grandchild, but looks like he and his wife are going to try a separation instead." Joining them at the table she gives a shake of her head. "You two remember this: keep the ones you care about close."

"Maybe someday I'll have a baby you can spoil as a great-grandchild."

Bella doesn't realize the implications of what she's said until she looks at Edward's reddened face.

She kicks his foot under the table. "Shh."

"What? I didn't say anything."

Mrs. Cameron and Bella start laughing, Edward joining in a second later.

"That's nice," Mrs. Cameron says, patting Bella's hand. "Keep smiling at each other. Look each other in the eyes when you do it. Show you mean it."

Edward and Bella take a moment, locking eyes, and do just what she says. They're already smiling when their eyes meet, so all they do is maintain the smile.

Edward sticks around through some of the knitting, up until he gets tired of Little Lulu episodes. Kissing Bella, he says he'll be back for her later.

...

Enough kids have seen Edward and Bella together around town that talk at school has finally abated from the subject of teachers. Sometimes Rose's brother is mentioned, or a college guy, but that is fine with Bella. Because Paul likes to be an ass he does slip in a cheap shot, asking Bella how she can fuck around on Mr. Holt, the oldest teacher in the school. Then he shakes her shoulder like he's kidding and like they're friends. Bella yanks away from him.

Heading for her next class, she wonders about the rumors and their affect on her. Would she have been as affected if they hadn't been true? She thinks back to her old self, herself before Riley. She probably would've laughed the gossip away. She definitely would not have let herself fall victim to it.

If she had known then what she knows now her whole junior and senior years would've been so different. And that's only considering it from her end. How much differently would everyone else have reacted when their taunting didn't have the effect they'd hoped for.

She will not miss high school when it's over.

Though it has been weeks since she last marked a line at the base of her wall, maybe more than weeks. She doesn't take the time to count back or to fill in her missing tallies.

Because of a group project for Government, Bella meets Lauren and Bree at Lauren's house.

Bella is acutely aware of the fact that of anyone at school, Bree is the closest to knowing the truth. In Lauren's room, on her bed, the back of Bella's neck starts to perspire when Bree spills in her quiet voice how jealous all the girls are of Bella.

With narrowed eyes and creased brows, Bella tries to silently plead with Bree not to mention Mr. Biers.

She doesn't. She mentions Edward.

"Any girl who's ever seen him wants him."

"Not me," Lauren says. "He's all Bella's." She squeezes Bella's knee and slides her hand up her thigh until Bella slaps it away with a laugh.

...

Over breakfast on Wednesday, Bella's dad's face brightens and he sits taller. "U-Dub? Is that so? Thought you had your heart set on California."

He's in his uniform, due for work in less than thirty minutes. Bella chose this exact time to ask his permission to be excused from school on Friday to tour the University of Washington with Rose and her family. Bella's hope is that without much time to mull it over he'll answer in her favor.

"That was before."

"Before Edward?"

"_Dad_." Edward is part of it, of course, a huge part. But the main reason California looked so good to her was because of its distance. She wanted to put miles between herself and Forks. Now she has reasons not to run so far away. Edward, her dad, Mrs. Cameron, Rose. She would even add Alice, Lauren, and Jessica to the list if each of them weren't putting miles of their own between themselves and Forks. But they will be going away for the right reason. For school choice, not necessarily escape.

"Hey, you won't find me talking you out of my alma mater, you know that. Just make sure you think your decision through. Think about how you'll feel if something goes wrong between you and Edward."

"They have a high ranking fine arts program," Bella says. "And Seattle has all kinds of art communities."

"All kinds?"

"A lot. And Rose will be there, too. And what about you? Aren't you a good reason?"

"You know I'd keep you here in this house if I could."

"Plus," Bella says, "it's more affordable. I won't have to take out as much in student loans."

"All great arguments."

"So, can I go?"

"When is this?"

"Friday."

Scratching his chin, he raises his gaze to the ceiling. "I'd like to take you. I want this experience with you. Got room for one more?"

He wants to experience this with her? Bella is unprepared for how his declaration fills her chest. She doesn't lament how this will cut in to alone-time with Edward, or how it might hinder her freedom for Friday night. All she can feel is touched and elated, and even some kind of relief from something she wasn't aware she needed relieved.

"That would be the best thing," she says.

...

They leave before five on Friday morning.

Bella rides with her dad. Edward and Biter ride with his family.

Throughout the drive Bella keeps turning around to look for the Cullens' SUV, but even if she spots it, she can't see Edward. She imagines Biter resting his chin in Edward's lap while Edward strokes him.

Bella and her dad talk about his experience at college, a conversation that dwindles when he comes to the part where he met her mother. At some point Bella gets brave and talks her dad into letting her go to Emmett's party later. In fact, it doesn't take much convincing at all. She's somewhat shocked at how easy it is.

"Bella," he says, "as much as I'd like to deny it, you're eighteen years old. You'll be out of the house in a few months. As long as you're safe and not breaking the law, I trust you to go out, have a good time, and make the right choices."

"But my curfew," she says. "I thought..."

"Your curfew is set because I don't want you having sleepovers with your boyfriend. Not while living in my house. I'm a father and I have my limits when it comes to you. But I'm not naive to this thing called life. I'm out in the real world every day, witnessing—sometimes in a week—more than most people will witness their entire lives. The less I know about what's going on in your, um, romantic life, the better."

"Dad, that's enough of that."

"Thank you." He pretends to wipe sweat from his forehead. Or maybe he is sweating. Life experience, or police chief experience, evidently doesn't make it any easier for a father to discuss his daughter's sexlife with her. "But it's just a party tonight. You'll be sleeping in our hotel room."

Bella has to laugh at the way he treats her like an adult and a child in the same conversation.

...

During the campus tour Edward puts his arm around Bella in front of her dad, he holds her hand in front of him, and he even kisses her in front of him, but not on the lips.

Bella's sure Edward must be bored since he has no need for a tour. Maybe that's why he keeps toying with her fingers and pulling the back of her hand up to his lips.

The third or fourth time he kisses her hand in five minutes, Bella's dad clears his throat, and both Edward and Bella try to stifle laughs that become impossible to hold back when they look at each other.

Rose turns to Bella. "Pay attention," she says sternly, followed by a giggle of her own.

Edward points out quiet places to study and shortcuts that Bella won't remember. Her dad points out things that have changed around campus since he was a student. He seems excited and ten years younger.

After the tour they have time to do some shopping before dinner. Edward doesn't come along. He heads to Emmett's apartment to check on Biter. No dogs are allowed in their hotel.

"Having a dog is like having a kid," Esme said just before Edward left.

Downtown, Bella finds a clothing sale and her dad buys her a couple of new shirts and dresses. She's slowly building a new wardrobe for herself. There are dresses hanging in her closet that she'll never wear again.

Rose finds a couple of vinyl albums at the music store Edward told them about. He used to teach piano lessons to kids in the back room. Bella tries to peek back there behind the guitars lined up against the wall, but the door is closed.

After a break and changing into more formal attire, they all dine together at a nice Italian restaurant, dark and lit by candles. Carlisle and Esme have met Bella's dad plenty of times, but this is the first time they're hanging out together without Bella's mother. It could get awkward if someone mentions her, but for Bella, it also gets awkward when nobody does. In a different world, Bella wouldn't mind having both her parents here with her for this experience the way Rose has hers.

She doesn't dwell on that, though.

She dwells more on Edward dressed in his white button down and black pants. The waves in his hair look like they're waiting for her to run her fingers through them.

"You two girls," Esme says, after wine for everyone but Rose and Bella is poured. "Should talk this one into joining you." She motions to Edward. "Finish up his last year of school. One more year." She shakes her head. "One more."

Edward shifts beside Bella. She feels his index finger trace back and forth on her thigh through her tights.

"School isn't for everyone," Bella's dad says. "Renee never finished either."

Now Bella shifts. Edward's finger stops. She wraps her hand around it. It's nice of her dad to speak up for Edward, not so nice to compare him to her mother.

"Sure, sure," Carlisle says, maybe for no reason but to relieve the tension. It doesn't really work. For a time after that all that can be heard at their table is the tinkling of silverware on plates.

Bella can feel Edward's leg bobbing beside her. His index finger she's holding curves around all of hers. He leans down toward her ear. "You look beautiful."

"I just got this dress today," she says, grinning.

"The dress is beautiful, too." He doesn't take his gaze off hers.

Her grin fades and her eyes fill.

"You're beautiful," she whispers, and she hopes he hears it because she means it. She can't look into his eyes, though, to be sure he heard because she knows her tears will fall, and this is not the place.

...

Emmett's apartment is decorated in mint. Mint curtains, a mint sofa, mint cushions on the two stools at the counter facing the kitchen cut out. Even mint lampshades. It doesn't look like a college guy's apartment at all. Edward explains that Emmett's mom decorated the place. Since she was paying for it all, they let her do what she wanted.

"You can always tell when she's been here," Edward says, " because she leaves green apples in a basket on the counter."

It isn't really a party yet. It's a small gathering of friends at this point, so Bella can't miss it when Angela walks into the apartment. Over by the balcony door, Bella automatically leans back against Edward who circles his arm around her waist and whispers, "Sorry" in her ear.

Bella steps out of Edward's embrace. She doesn't want to look this dependent on him.

"Hi, Angela," she says. With a small smile, Angela waves and then practically jumps on Emmett's roommate, hugging him.

Bella turns to face Edward who drops his hand to her waist.

"Drink?" he asks.

"Beer," she says. While they plan on taking a taxi back to their hotel, she still won't drink anything that will leave a strong smell on her breath.

Edward veers around the corner to the refrigerator for two beers and they take them and their coats out to the balcony with Biter. They remain out there, playing with the dog until he seems relaxed enough to go inside with the crowd, which has grown considerably.

Biter sniffs at legs and gets plenty of attention, his tail wagging.

Bella notices that Rose has been by Emmett's side since they got here. With a huge, but dangerous looking grin, Emmett lifts Rose over his shoulders which makes her shriek, which makes Biter bark.

Rose is holding the end of her skirt tight to her legs.

"Hey, dude," Emmett says to the dog, settling Rose back down on her feet. "You're on my turf." He scruffs Biter's throat and the back of his ear.

Bella walks over to them by the sofa and gives Rose an elbow bump and an eyebrow raise. Rose just smiles back.

When Emmett steps outside for a smoke, Rose turns to Bella as if questioning what she should do. Bella motions for her to go with him.

"I can't just _follow _him."

Through the balcony door, Emmett calls back, "Coming, Rose?"

Bella watches Rose's smile grow like a weed.

Biter follows them outside.

Her beer now empty, Bella heads to the kitchen for a new one. The entire kitchen can't be seen from the living room. The cut-out over the counter reveals a bit of the cabinets and part of the refrigerator, but Bella can see enough. Edward is in there with Angela.

She walks around the corner, standing behind Angela who is in the middle of asking Edward to do something he clearly—judging by the near-disgusted look on his face—doesn't want to do.

"It's over," Edward is saying. "It's been over. I don't know how many more ways there are to make that clear."

"It's clear," Angela says. "It just doesn't seem right for me to graduate without you there. We started here together, it only seems right to end with you here."

Edward shifts his eyes to Bella and Angela turns around. She brings her hand up to her chest like she always used to do when she fiddled with her necklace. But there's no necklace there now.

"Would you let him come?" she asks Bella.

"To your graduation?'

"You could come too."

Bella frowns at her and has to hold back a sarcastic laugh. She knows there is no way Angela wants her there. "Do you want to go?" Bella asks Edward.

In the sliver of the moment between her question and his answer, Bella hates the feeling that comes over her. She recalls what Lauren said about Edward being all hers, but right now, he doesn't feel all hers; it's more like she's borrowing him for the time being and is expected to give him back.

"Not even a little," Edward says.

"Okay." Angela nods. "I get that you don't care about me anymore. You've made that very obvious no matter what I've done or how much I've apologized for hurting you. But you really want to spend your time with a high schooler? When we were at your parents' house and she was with your sister, you used to-"

"Fuck off, Angela." Edward reaches past Angela, takes Bella's fingers and pulls her over to him. "Whatever I said about Rose and her friends last year is nothing compared to what I've said or thought about you. I mean, we can stand here and compare notes if you want."

Angela turns and walks out of the kitchen. Bella breathes easier. Edward spins her around so her back is to the wall and he leans down until they're forehead to forehead. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he whispers.

"I know." She brings her fingers to his scruff-free jaw.

"She was talking about that time I ran into you in the hallway and you were drunk."

"Edward, stop. I don't want to compare notes either. I liked that, when you caught me from falling. I don't want that tainted with the thought of you laughing at me. Even though, yeah, it was probably funny."

"Okay." He gives her a beer-flavored kiss. "But I didn't laugh at you. I just remembered what stupid things I used to do when I was a junior. Not that I thought you were stupid. I was. That's my point."

"Shh."

"Can I just tell you one more thing?"

"What?"

"You're the only person I love."

"What about your family?" Bella smiles.

"All right, you're the only person outside of my family I love. How's that?"

"That's good." She slides her hand from his face to his neck and pulls him to her lips. He kisses her until she breaks away. "She's right about my age, though. Even my dad told me I'm a kid compared to you."

"Yeah, but you're-"

"Don't say mature."

"I was going to say,_ you_." He kisses her again, this time,_ really _kissing her. The hand that isn't around his neck seems to find its own way to the bottom of his shirt and up and under it to his bare stomach, touching, sweeping along the soft hair there. His hand catches hers and he stops his kiss with a breathy laugh and a "Bella, Bella. You make me want all of you right here." He kisses her, pecks her lips, once more before backing up.

Without his kiss on her lips, without his low voice in her ear, and without the darkness of his shadow over her, she's reminded they're in an apartment full of people.

They go back out to the living room, weaving between people to the sofa where Edward pulls her down to sit between his legs. He wraps his arms around her middle, still holding his beer, and with his chin, he nudges her hair out of the way to kiss her neck. She relaxes against him.

Though she isn't looking at Angela, Bella's aware of where she's standing by the balcony and that she's staring at Bella and Edward.

Bella excuses herself from Edward and heads right to Angela.

"Look," she says. "I don't know if you think you're better than me because you're older, or in college, or because Edward was your boyfriend first. But you messed that up. You made a choice for whatever reason, and losing him was a consequence of that. And now he's with me and you have no control over him. So just... let him go. Because he deserves that, but also because-" she lowers her voice "-you're kind of making a fool of yourself."

Zombie-like, Angela walks past Bella. Through the reflection of the glass door, Bella can see that Edward is right behind her. She turns around. He's looking at her with this goofy kind of grin on his face, like he's proud of her.

"Did you just claim me?"

She hooks her finger between two buttons of his shirt and looks down, embarrassed that he heard her.

She can feel him bend closer, feel his breath in her ear. "After that, how am I supposed to get through this night without you in my bed, under me? Or actually, after that, on top of me."

Chills run up Bella's body and she meets his eyes, glassy green. "Edward." She breathes out.

With fingers to his lips he shakes his head. "You don't even know what you do to me, do you? What you just did to me. I have to wait until tomorrow night?"

If it's anything close to what his words are doing to her right now, she has a pretty good idea of what he means.

...

They don't leave until most of the party is cleared out and after they take Biter for a long walk. As Esme suggested earlier, just like he's a kid, they kiss him goodbye, and Bella, Rose, and Edward go down to meet their taxi.

Hands clasped, Edward walks Bella to her room where he kisses her goodbye. None of the feelings they had after her confrontation with Angela have ebbed. If anything, they've intensified. They try for just a peck, as if that's possible. As soon as their lips meet it's like an electrical surge, and their kiss is heavy, deep. Edward's pressing Bella up against the wall, climbing his hands up and all over her dress.

He lifts her leg around him and runs his fingers up her thigh. Moaning into her neck he pushes his hips into hers which makes her stomach jump. Does he know how that feels to her? Is that why he does it? Or does it feel the same to him?

"Shh," she says, and then kisses him. "If my dad hears-"

"You, shh," he says. "Don't bring up your dad at a time like this." He dots kisses down her neck to her shoulder. "Come to my room."

"With Rose?"

"I'll send her to my parents' room."

"Yeah, that's sly... and mean."

He laughs and kisses her. "I know." Still holding her leg around him he rubs himself against her again and again, only amplifying their heart rates, making the torture worse for both of them.

Hands to his chest she pushes him back and lets her foot fall to the floor to steady herself. They stare at each other catching their breath. Bella tries not to think about the ache in her breasts and between her legs.

She straightens her dress and her hair and then crosses her arms over her chest. "I think we need showers."

"You're telling me." He leans in for another kiss but she stops him, again with a hand to the chest. He takes that hand and kisses her knuckles. "Goodnight, Bella."


	43. Silent Treatment

I love you guys. Thank you for voting for Something True at The Lemonade Stand. It made the Fab Five. :)

Word Prompt: _Wallet_

Plot Generator—Idea Completion: _The silent treatment._

* * *

**Something True**

**The Silent Treatment**

* * *

_**This Spring**_

* * *

At the Lakeview Restaurant site there is now most of a structure, almost a building. The rumor is it will be finished and open by summer.

Edward and Bella can't watch long because all the noise, the hammering and the growl of machinery is making Biter bark like he's rabid. They walk in the opposite direction, to the dead forest. Eyes on the ground, watching Biter sniff the earth, Bella notices life. Some green. The tiniest trees. She bends down and touches a branch as gently as if she's touching the fingers of a newborn baby.

As they walk on, Bella takes extra care to step over every bit of green she can see. There's no way to direct Biter around it all, but Bella will do whatever she can. She definitely won't let him chomp at it.

"It's important," she tells Biter, pushing his snout away. "It has to grow." He cocks his head at her which makes her smile and repeat herself. "It has to grow." He cocks his head again.

She straightens up, smiling at Edward. "It's coming back."

He pulls her to his side. "When we're fifty there'll be no sign that a fire ever happened here."

Back at the cottage, Bella gathers pencils from a kitchen drawer and starts to add in new growth to the back wall next to their Christmas tree, which, now undecorated is simply a fir tree. "We'll paint it later," she tells Edward.

...

The next morning, Saturday, Bella walks under the three birch trees, leaves and buds sprinkled over most of the branches.

When Bella helped package up the baby items for their different destinations, Mrs. Cameron spoke to Bella of a new project she wanted to start. Apparently she has a list of them and today they'll go over it, deciding on a schedule.

There's no answer to her knock so she rings the doorbell. After waiting for a few minutes, she tries the handle but it's locked. Strange since Mrs. Cameron was expecting her.

The garage door is closed so she can't tell if the older woman's car is in there. Maybe she had to run an errand, gather more yarn or supplies or something. Bella heads around the back through the grass, knowing of a hidden key under a big rock.

She tries the sliding glass door first, which opens. The house is quiet and still. No box of pastries on the counter, no television on, no sound at all.

Passing the bathroom, the door is open, the room empty. That leaves the bedroom.

Mrs. Cameron is still in bed, covers drawn over her.

"Did you oversleep?" Bella asks, stepping to the side of the bed.

Her gray hair is stuck close to her head as if she's been sweating.

"Are you sick?"

Eyelids flutter open. Deep brown eyes, big round pupils.

"Lulu," she says, letters kind of melting together. "I've a touch of the flu."

Bella presses the back of her hand to Mrs. Cameron's forehead, clammy and hot.

"Have you taken your temperature?"

Mrs. Cameron rolls to her back. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm worried about you."

"Wipe that scowl off your face."

Bella touches her face. For a few seconds she's frozen.

"I have a little boy, you know. He's..." she trails off.

"Jared. Do you want me to call him?"

"He's out bicycle riding." She points toward the bathroom.

Bella's stomach drops.

"Come on. You have to go to the hospital." She starts to lift Mrs. Cameron by the shoulders, but it's clear the woman has no strength to even sit up.

With shaking fingers and a quivering, unsure voice, Bella calls for an ambulance, doing her best to give as many details as she can. When asked about a heartbeat, she places her hand over Mrs. Cameron's heart. The beat is fast, way too fast. "Oh, God," she says.

"Is everything all right?" the woman on the phone, the dispatcher asks.

"It's too fast. It isn't right."

After that call, she calls her dad. He arrives in his police cruiser at the same time as the ambulance. He's in his uniform, boots and hat, gun at his hip and all. They follow the ambulance to the hospital and wait outside the intensive care unit.

Wait and wait and wait.

Jared shows up with his wife, or soon-to-be ex-wife. He asks questions, gets no answers.

The doctors don't know.

"What kind of medication is she on?" the nurse asks. Jared takes out his wallet and leafs through it. He doesn't find what he's looking for. He could go to her house and check. The nurse says they'll check her records.

They wait longer. Bella's cold and then hot and then cold again. The sterile smell is too much, but then seems to disappear completely.

After two hours, they're finally admitted to see Mrs. Cameron. "She's agitated," they're warned.

Apparently the hospital has disoriented her further. She's convinced the nurses are trying to hurt her.

Bella stands back against the wall as Jared says things like, "Mom, I'm here. Kim's here. You're going to be okay."

But his voice falters. He doesn't know for sure. Nobody does. Do the doctors?

Bella looks across at the window, the sky gray as ash. She doesn't want to see Mrs. Cameron's face all angry like that.

They try to tell her that nobody here will harm her, but it makes her worse. They decide it's better to wait it out, wait for the sedative to kick in.

When it does, Bella can walk over to the bed. She feels the weight of her father's arm fall away from her shoulders. She hadn't even realized he'd been next to her.

"Hi, Mrs. C." She gets closer. Does she even know Bella's here?

She's hooked up to machines. A needle in her hand, IV. A tube going into her nose, oxygen.

"Lulu," she says, and Bella's heart drums. "What are you doing in here?" Her eyes are half-closed. "Go to the maternity ward."

So she knows she's in the hospital, but she's still confused about why.

Bella sits in a chair beside Mrs. Cameron, holding her hand as the woman relaxes into sleep. Her dad, Jared, and Kim walk out to talk to the doctor. It seems they have answers now.

Bella isn't sure she wants answers. What she wants is to wake up from this nightmare.

She kisses the back of Mrs. Cameron's veiny, warm hand. "I want you to be okay," she whispers. "Be okay."

She's eleven years old again. The rocking chair is creaking. Mrs. Cameron is giving Bella hugs when she needs them, telling jokes when she needs them, and telling her to toughen up when she needs to hear it.

Bella's Dad and the others reenter the room. Her dad is too silent, beckoning Bella over with a finger. He puts his arm around her. She doesn't like any of this.

"It's septic shock," he says low, and she doesn't know what that means. "Complications of the organs due to an existing infection."

He explains that the doctors say she was on medication for a urinary tract infection. The UTI led to sepsis. Unknown and untreated, it escalated into septic shock. As her dad's explaining the infection, Kim is rubbing Jared's arm telling him it isn't his fault.

"He said if she'd been brought in sooner-" Jared starts.

"You didn't know. Your mom told you it was nothing. She was already confused. You couldn't have known."

"It took blood tests for the doctors to figure it out," Bella's dad says.

They seem to be attempting to relieve Jared of his guilt, but what Bella wants to know is why everyone's talking like this is it. The end. Words like: "If only I..." and "should have..." and "my fault..."

But at the same time, she doesn't want to know. She doesn't ask. Her dad gives her answers to unasked questions, anyway.

"It's not looking good, sweetheart. It's-it's very severe at this point. I'm sorry." He reaches out to hug her. She pushes away.

"But what - what are they_ doing f_or her? They're just giving up?"

"They're scheduling a surgery," Jared says. "To remove dead organ tissue."

"Then there's still hope. It isn't over yet." They wouldn't even bother with a surgery if there was no hope.

"She's alive now," Kim says. "There's always hope."

Bella looks at Mrs. Cameron asleep on the hospital bed, her chest rising and falling. Peaceful. She watches the heart rate on the machine. It doesn't seem as fast as it was at her house. There_ is_ hope.

"Where are you going?" her dad asks when Bella walks past him and out of the room.

"The maternity ward. She told me to."

Her dad begins following her, but ends up leading because Bella doesn't know the way and doesn't think to look at directory signs.

She peers through glass at the newborns. There are only three in their cradles right now, their tiny red bodies sleeping in nothing but diapers and little knit hats on their heads.

She examines the hats - blue and purple and pink, green and yellow, blue and white.

She can hear Mrs. Cameron's voice, the times she'd glide as they were knitting together and would randomly say, "This is a good thing we're doing," or "You're doing a good thing, Little Lu, sacrificing your time this way," or "Work like this is never wasted time, you'll see."

The hats on these babies aren't the hats she and Mrs. Cameron knitted, but it lights Bella up inside to know that elsewhere babies will be wearing their creations. Some are probably wearing them now. For the first time since she arrived at Mrs. Cameron's house earlier, Bella feels calm. She stares at the babies, at their hats. She notices a knit blanket folded over the side of one of the cradles.

_This is a good thing we're doing._

"Bella?" her dad says. "Should we go back?"

She isn't sure how long she's been standing here staring. She points in front of her. "I made hats and blankets just like these. Some were even smaller." Tears slide down her cheeks.

A hand squeezes her shoulder.

...

That night her phone vibrates with calls, but she doesn't want to talk to anyone so she doesn't even check to see who's calling. In the morning she showers early to get to the hospital. Today's the surgery.

She can hear her dad downstairs in the kitchen, possibly cooking breakfast. She pulls a T-shirt over her head, lifts her wet hair out of the neck of the shirt and lets it fall, tangled, and more than damp, down her back. She reaches for her comb on her desk when the house phone rings. Even in her room, where there is no phone, the ringing is loud.

It rings again, and she jumps.

It stops ringing.

She stands where she is, comb in hand.

Minutes tick by.

It's been too long.

She swallows.

Saliva fills her mouth again.

She knows.

When her dad pushes her door open, she's certain before he says it, before she even sees the way his mouth his turned down and his eyelids are heavy.

"I'm sorry, Bella," he says, and even though she's certain, she shakes her head over and over and says, "No."

"She went into cardiac arrest before the surgery."

The comb drops to the floor and makes no sound. She says "no" again. Her dad steps toward her with his arms open. She steps backward. Her stomach has never felt emptier. All of her insides have never felt emptier. Yet she could throw up.

"Can I be alone?" Her voice doesn't sound like her own. It's as if it's coming from some other part of the room.

"You've been alone since we got home last night. Are you sure?"

She nods. She's sure.

He says he's sorry one more time and closes the door. Bella lies flat on her stomach on her bed and tries not to cry. She tries not to feel and tries to make her mind stop thinking.

She sees Mrs. Cameron's smiling face and she blocks it out. She sees Mrs. Cameron hooked to machines and she blocks it out. She blocks everything out until it all goes black.

It's like she can feel or see her pulse behind her eyes.

Through the darkness she hears a smooth voice. "Your dad said I could come up." Edward's voice. She opens her eyes and it's still dark. "He told me you don't want to see anyone."

"No." Her voice barely works.

"I tried to call."

She doesn't say anything.

"Have you been sleeping all day?"

Has she? She must have been. But why does it matter? She doesn't answer.

She hears her bedroom door click quietly shut. She feels the mattress move as Edward lies down beside her. His arm comes around her and pulls her back into his body. She's limp.

She's vaguely aware that she's still in nothing but her T-shirt and underwear. His jeans are rough against her legs.

"Bella?"

She remains silent.

"Let me in."

He tightens his arms around her and her tears begin to flow.

She starts shaking in his arms. "This is-"

"It's okay," he says, his voice sounding closer than ever. "Let me in."

"She was here yesterday."

"I know."

"She was fine last week. Completely. Smiling. Laughing, Edward." She sniffles, her vision blurred by the buildup of more and more tears.

"I know, baby."

_Hold the people you care about close,_ she had said.

"She was fine."

"Yeah, she was."

_Keep smiling at each other,_ she had said.

"I'm never gonna see her again."

He combs his hand down her hair.

_Maybe someday I'll have a baby you can spoil as a great-grandchild, _Bella had said.

"How is that possible?" The sobbing starts again.

"Shh." He turns her around and lets her cry on his chest, his lips to her head, hand down her hair and back.

She uses his shirt to wipe her tears. As her sight clears up and her eyes adjust to the dark, she looks over Edward's chest at the rocking chair, the best, most important purchase she has ever made. She'll never get rid of it.

His T-shirt is bunched up in her fist. She lays her head back down on his chest, and his arms come around her. He holds Bella close. She holds him close back.


	44. Paradise

**Word Prompts**: Paradise, paralyze, paranoid

Choose one word and write what your imagination dictates. For an added challenge, include all three words in your entry.

* * *

**Something True**

**Paradise**

* * *

_**This Spring**_

* * *

In the blue light of morning Bella slips into a black dress. She brushes her hair. She colors her lips and cheeks a soft pink. She applies mascara.

And then she sits on the living room sofa.

It's still hard to believe that Mrs. Cameron is gone. It's easier to believe that Bella will be visiting her later, watching the woman's face brighten up, watching her pull a basket of yarn from the closet.

Here, on the sofa, dressed and ready to go after a wakeful night of tossing and turning, Bella lays her head back, closes her eyes, and falls asleep.

...

Edward had slept with his arm around her six nights ago, and her dad hadn't said a thing about it. In the morning, the three of them had a quiet breakfast of cereal together, Edward holding Bella's fingers under the table.

She stayed home from school.

That afternoon, Bella checked her phone. Even though she didn't feel like talking about what happened, she returned calls to her friends, and to her mother. The calls were short; she listened to condolences and said thank you.

At school, her friends huddled close to her between classes and at lunch. She invited them to the memorial service.

The memorial service is at ten at the Veterans'Hall, the luncheon reception at noon at Mrs. Cameron's house.

Jared and Kim set out finger sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables with dip on the kitchen table. Someone else brings pie. Another person brings cookies. After that, Bella loses track. The people and the food keep coming.

There's a large photograph set on an easel in front of the wall next to the table. Sepia. Marion Cameron in her wedding dress. Daniel Cameron in his cutaway, holding one of her hands in both of his. Smiles.

Her hair was dark brown back then, though hard to see in this picture, worn up and mostly hidden under a veil.

Bella looks closer. She looks for so long that it's as if Mrs. Cameron will start moving.

_If anyone has a soul, this woman does, _Bella thinks. She has to imagine Mrs. Cameron in a paradise now with her soul mate.

On the refrigerator, under a magnet, Bella finds Mrs. Cameron's list of charity projects. She takes the list down and asks Edward to keep it in his pocket for her. He folds it up.

Rose is on the other side of Bella, looking down, and like Alice, Lauren, and Jessica in the living room, she seems unsure of what to say or how to act. Bella thinks something like knowing the right words to say at a time like this is hard to learn, if even possible.

Pete's here, too. He comes up and squeezes Bella's hand. She's too tongue-tied so Rose introduces him to Edward. They shake hands.

Most of the time, Bella can feel Edward's fingertips at her shoulder. Sometimes she doesn't even notice until they're gone, and she turns to look for Edward who's still beside her, and he moves his hand back to her shoulder.

Bella's mother maneuvers between two elderly women and then passes Pete to get to Bella. She hugs her for the second time today. The first hug was at the memorial service. It's one more of many hugs. Bella lets anyone hug her, almost as if she's a robot.

Her embrace with her dad lasts the longest though, her arms around his waist, head against his chest.

He kisses the top of her head and rests his cheek against it, and in this moment she feels more than the loss of Mrs. Cameron. She wishes she could have her childhood back for moments like this, in her daddy's arms. He was always ready and willing to give her hugs, but her own guilt had kept an arm's distance between them—Bella always quick to pull away.

She'll never get that back.

"I love you, Dad," she says.

"Love you too, Bella girl." She can hear the tears in his voice.

"You're the best dad."

"And you're the best daughter."

She knows that isn't true but she doesn't argue.

In the living room she smiles at her three girlfriends anchored together on the sofa.

"Thank you for coming," she says to them. They reach for her hand and each squeeze it one at a time. There is a lot of chatter around them, but all of her friends, even Alice, are eerily quiet.

Bella motions for Edward to sit down in a chair that was brought in for extra seating. She sits on his lap, pressing the side of her head to his.

He runs his fingers up and down her arm.

It's strange being in Mrs. Cameron's house without her. It's even worse remembering what it was like the last time Bella was here a week earlier.

"I wish we could leave," Bella whispers.

"It's a free country," Edward whispers back. "We can go whenever we want."

"Can we go to your cottage?"

He nods and kisses her and tells her she tastes like punch. He does too, and his lips are a little red. She says she'll meet him outside, she's going to say goodbye to her dad.

It isn't as easy as that though.

When she finds her dad back in the kitchen, he's hugging her mother.

She stares and waits for them to release each other. Is this what a memorial reception does? Bring people who are almost enemies closer together?

Finally they part and Bella ends up hugging them both goodbye. Her mother says she'll be in touch if that's okay, and Bella says that it is.

On her way out, several more hugs are shared. Perfect strangers who have heard stories about Bella from Mrs. Cameron open their arms to her. Jared, Kim, the girls, Pete, all block her path for short embraces before Bella can reach the front door.

When she makes it out front, Edward is standing by his car with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks and his dress jacket draped between his arm and his body. His tie is open, his hair a little disheveled, his smile small and crooked.

She walks toward him under the three Birches. She wonders if this might be the last time she'll stand under them and looks up through the sparse leaves, squinting into the white sky.

Edward reaches for her hand, opens her door for her, and drives her to the cottage.

...

It seems to Bella that the cottage holds a better amount of oxygen than Mrs. Cameron's house. She knows that isn't true though. It's being alone with Edward and Biter that makes breathing easier.

She bends to hug Biter, a couple of tears dripping onto his fur. Edward straightens her up and hugs her from behind, his chin digging into her shoulder. He sways her.

"You okay?"

She nods and wipes her cheeks.

"I don't remember if I told you I'm sorry."

"You did," she says, but she isn't positive. If he hasn't said it in words, he's certainly shown it.

Biter taps a paw on the sliding glass door, his indication that he needs to go out. Edward and Bella call it his knock. The glass at the dog's level is smeared with his nose prints and saliva.

"Can I take him?" Bella asks.

"You want to go by yourself?"

"Just for a little while."

Edward's eyebrows tense, but he gets the leash for her anyway.

Outside she takes a breath of fresh air, inhaling the scents of damp earth and spring leaves. She runs with Biter. She runs and lets her tears fall, the wind chilling them and whipping at her dress. Even wearing flats, she can only do so much running before her toes start to hurt. She slows down as they come to the dock. They walk to the end of it.

"I've been for a ride in that boat," she tells Biter, pointing to the fishing boat. "Maybe you can too, someday." She walks him back to the shore.

Out of the corner of her eye, to the far right she sees the movement of a tall bird.

It's a Blue Heron. She wonders if it's the same one she saw in the fall. Do they come back to the same spot year after year? If Mrs. Cameron were around, she'd know the answer.

Bella chances moving closer, but after a few steps, Biter lets out a low sound, almost like a cough. It's the threat of a bark. She shushes him, and doesn't move an inch closer to the bird.

She watches the grace of the heron, its long neck, as it pecks at something in the dirt. She's flooded with memories of Mrs. Cameron.

_I want love to be real,_ Bella remembers saying.

_I love you. Do you love me? was _Mrs. Cameron's reply.

Bella remembers wishing it was that easy.

She knows now that if she opens herself up to it, it can be that easy. The words from Edward, the kisses, the hugs, the hand-holding, the simplest touches, are all like nibbles on her heart. She can feel him in every nerve. Even now. Even when he's miles away.

Most things in life, Bella has learned, she can't predict and has no control over. But there are some things nobody _but_ Bella can control. She just has to be brave enough to do it.

Tugging on the leash, Bella leads Biter back into the cottage.

He heads straight for his water bowl.

"I saw you running," Edward says with a grin, but it falls when he sees that Bella isn't smiling. His tie is gone, his shirt wrinkled and untucked.

He's never looked more handsome.

He lifts a hand to her jaw, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone.

"I love when you do that," she says, holding his wrist.

"You love this? Why?" He lets his thumb meet the corner of her mouth and leans in for a kiss. She feels the warmth of his breath.

"It feels good."

"What else feels good?" he asks against her lips.

"Loving you."

He backs up. "What?" She barely hears it.

She blinks away tears, different tears. "I love you, Edward Cullen."

With a smile framing every word, he says, "How do you know, Bella Swan?"

"Put your hand on my heart."

He does.

She unbuttons two buttons on his shirt and slips her hand inside, her palm to his chest. Then she lifts his other palm to her lips and kisses it. Their hearts beat faster.

"It's easy," she says.

He gathers her close and lowers his head so that they're nose to nose. "And real?"

"Real."


	45. Daydream

**A/N**: First, thank you to Thimbles for prereading this for me. This was supposed to be yesterday's chapter. As I get near the end, my updates will slow down. I don't want to rush the ending. But I do plan on finishing before the end of next week. The next update is planned for Monday.

I say it on twitter a lot, but in case you're not there: my readers are awesome!

Word Prompt: _Daydream_

* * *

**Something True**

**Daydream**

* * *

_**This Spring**_

* * *

Edward holds the strap of her dress in his fist as he kisses her. The feel of his hard knuckles against her collarbone contrasts with his soft lips.

She unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way. With open hands, she pushes the shirt off his shoulders. She slips the end of his belt through the loop and unbuckles it. As soon as she gets his pants unbuttoned and unzipped, and presses her hand inside against his boxers, he's lifting her.

With Bella's arms wrapped around his neck, her legs wrapped around his middle, he carries her to the bedroom. Laying her down, he holds himself over her on his hands and knees, his belt hanging open.

She curves her hands around his waist and then runs her fingers up to his chest. He kisses her lips and next to her ear, under her jaw and across her chest. Her arm.

Pushing the bottom of her dress up, he brushes his lips along her hipbone, over her stomach, and moves higher, lifting the material as he goes.

She loves his mouth on her stomach, his hands holding on to her sides, bringing her closer to him. She's already close, her back arched, but he needs her closer.

She loves this need, his and hers.

Sitting up, she unzips, and pulls the dress over her head.

"Damn, you look good when you take your clothes off." It begins with his regular deep voice and ends in a whisper.

She reaches back to unhook her bra. Strapless, it falls away easy.

He's staring and she watches his mouth because she can't look him in the eye. She hopes he can't tell how nervous she is to have his eyes on her like this, how hard her heart is pounding. But then he's touching her breasts, his fingertips caressing until she's falling backwards and stinging with tingles.

He makes it hard to think clearly.

He's kissing her neck when he says, "I love you, too," as if she told him just now and not ten minutes ago.

She laughs.

"I love that," he says.

She pushes at his pants with her hands first and then with her feet.

His pants are off, his mouth at her breast, his hands at her ribs holding tight.

"It's so fucking hard to go slow with you right now," he says against her breast, pushing his hips into her leg.

"Then don't," she says.

Before her last word is out, he's reaching for a condom.

Turning to his back, he pulls her on top of him, and in the next breath he's groaning, pushing up inside of her, and she's sliding down on him. And he's all the way inside her, in her tightening chest, in her thumping heart, in her head.

Her hair falls forward over her shoulders and he brushes it back, his fingers trailing over her skin down to her hips. She feels him grip.

Then he stops her from moving. "Sorry." He laughs low. "Just..." He turns his head and squeezes his eyes.

She kisses his cheek and across to his ear. "Can I move now?" she asks and touches her tongue to his jaw.

He nods.

She does, pressing her knees into the mattress, her chest against his, her hands at the back of his neck, in his hair. She kisses him just the way he once demonstrated she does. Light and then dark. She can't help it. She kisses him like that until she no longer can. And she moves over him faster until she no longer can.

She's feeling him in every right place.

Breathing her name, he grips her hips, not to stop her this time, but to keep her going for as long as he needs it, which isn't long.

Spent, she's face down on his chest. Her lips have strength again and she kisses his skin over and over. He brushes hair off her shoulders and pressing his hand into her back, he kisses her head. He wraps both of his arms around her so tight that she has no choice but to lie flat against him.

They wind down. Putting themselves back together. Bringing themselves back to earth, back to Forks, back to the cottage and this bed.

"Tell me again," he says, lifting her face to his.

"I love you."

His smile is big and lazy and full of hope or promise or future.

This is not a dream.

...

In the kitchen, Biter follows them around as they search for something to eat. Bella's in her dress and bare feet. Edward's in his slacks and bare feet. No shirt. Sometimes she gets caught up staring at his back, other times his chest. Her lips were just on that chest, her hands too, but it's still as if she's seeing it for the first time.

He continues his search through the refrigerator and cabinets. All that food at the luncheon, but nothing here. Edward finds a can of Campbell's soup. Chicken noodle. He heats it in a saucepan on the stove, tugging Bella close, weaving their fingers together.

He ladles the soup into bowls, Bella grabs the spoons and napkins, and they eat at the table, Biter lying beneath it, his nose nearly touching Bella's bare feet.

"That guy today. Pete?

She looks up, dropping her spoon to her bowl.

"He's got it bad for you."

"Not anymore."

"He was staring at you. He asked me if I knew I was lucky and told me to treat you right. It was a threat."

"We're just friends." She picks up her spoon. "Okay?"

"Okay."

Guilt comes over Bella as the truth of her past with Pete hovers above her like a rain cloud She doesn't want to lie to Edward, but she kind of just did. She wipes her lips with her napkin. "We've been friends since fourth grade, but he was also my - my..."

"Your what?"

Bella hesitates. She likes Pete. She's always liked him, and she doesn't want Edward to hate him or be jealous of him or threatened by him.

Maybe her answer is in her pause.

"Wait. Don't tell me. I don't want to know." He looks down at his bowl and mashes the base of his palm to his forehead like he already knows. "Fuck. This subject."

"You asked."

"Yeah," he says. "Smart."

She walks to him and he pushes his chair out so she can sit on his lap. His arms circle around her. She drops her forehead to his. No more words. Just each other, touching, shared breath, communicating in silence what they can't out loud.

He raises his face to hers, parts his lips and kisses her open-mouthed. No slow pecks, no lead-up. He's taking from her. She gives to him.

And this is what love is. It's taking and giving. It's sharing. It's equal.

Edward and Bella or Bella and Edward.

It doesn't matter because this is love, and they're both first.

...

It isn't until much later, in the dark, standing on her doorstep under another hidden moon, that he takes the piece of paper from his pocket.

"This is yours." He hands it to her.

She doesn't open it.

"What is it?"

"A list."

"A list of what?"

"Work she wanted to do that is never a waste of time."

He tilts his head and then does the thing she loves most, brings his hand to her face, his thumb over her cheek. He kisses her and squeezes her in his arms, Biter sitting by their feet, waiting patiently.

"I don't want to let you go," he says, not even loosening his hold over her shoulders a little.

Not being let go feels too good. "I don't want you to."

...

Mid-week, after school, Jared drops off a cardboard box that Bella has never seen before. It's the size of a large shirt box.

"We found it under her bed," he says. He has brown skin and lines in his face that run deeper than her dad's. He looks a few years older than her dad, closer to fifty than forty-five. Bella doesn't think he ever planned to have kids, not even if he wasn't separating from his wife.

What kind of hope was Mrs. Cameron holding on to?

The box is heavier than it looks. She peers up at Jared unable to find any words.

"She talked about you all the time," he says. "Loved you like a grandkid."

"I loved her, too." She shakes her head. "I mean, I love her." She swallows a knot of tears.

"You did a lot for her. I thank you for that."

She's doesn't really know what she did for Mrs. Cameron. She did make the woman smile, she knows that much.

"I think..." He stuffs his hands in his pocket and drops his gaze to the ground. Keys jingle. "We're selling the house. If you want to come and have a look around this week, see if there's anything else you want."

Bella's not sure she can do that. Everywhere she looks she'll hope to see Mrs. Cameron. Is it the same for Jared?

She tells him she'll come on Friday.

She'll try.

Up in her room, she sits in the rocking chair and opens the box. She lets the lid fall. Inside is Bella's old artwork, cards and crafts she made with Mrs. Cameron. She'd saved it all: a paper plate clown mask, a sock puppet with gray yarn for hair and a triangle of red felt for a tongue, watercolor paintings and tissue paper flowers with pipe cleaner stems. She picks up the first tiny scarf she ever knitted and runs it through her fingers. It's the size of a doll's scarf. She wraps it around her neck anyway.

She's tearing up, but couldn't explain why. Loss? Thankfulness? Gratefulness? Maybe all of it.

At the bottom of the box, the thing giving the box its weight is a Connect Four game.

It was Bella's favorite game to play with Mrs. Cameron. It was one game Bella could win. They played at the kitchen table, Bella facing the back door, looking out at all the shades of green in the yard.

As she replaces everything in the box, save the Connect Four game, she realizes there are a few things she wants that are not included here.

The Little Lulu DVDs. And the afghan that rests over the back of Mrs. Cameron's sofa. The one that warmed Bella's shoulders while she watched movies, or drank iced tea, or knitted.

She slides the closed up box under her bed, and then she goes to the folded up paper sitting on her desk. She reads the list.

Fundraisers, Washington State charities, overseas charities, and the one that stands out the most: Offer knitting classes to the childrens' hospital.

Bella tapes the paper to her wall above her desk. She'll follow through with everything on the list. There are women who will help, some she met through knitting for newborns, some she met at the memorial.

When Edward comes for dinner on Friday, she shows him the blanket, now folded over the rocking chair, and her box of crafts. The few Little Lulu DVDs sit downstairs by the TV.

"I forgot about so much of this," she says as he picks through the box on her bed. He brings the clown mask up to his face and makes her grin. "It's all regular kids' stuff. Her house was the one place I felt like a kid." Even when she thought she was too old for some of this stuff, she enjoyed it with Mrs. Cameron.

"I want this," Edward says, pulling the elastic band of the mask over his head. He's all primary colors and simple shapes. Triangle eyes, circle nose, half-moon smile. "I'll wear it when you're mad at me."

"Then I'll pretend to be mad at you just so you'll wear it."

Edward laughs and takes off the mask. "You really missed out on being a kid, huh?" He grabs the Connect Four game. "Let's be kids."

When the dinner plates are cleared away, Edward, Bella, and her dad take turns playing the winner. They play at least seven rounds. They act like kids, the three of them, accusing another of cheating, groaning when someone sneaks four in a row, fighting over red or black and who goes first.

"Stop copying every move I make!" Bella says.

"I'm going where I want," Edward says.

Nobody wins that game and they have to start over.

Bella likes the idea of bringing her childhood back. It may not have been that long ago, but it sure feels like it.

At Edward's cottage, they drape blankets all over his room, and crawl underneath. She sits on the floor next to Biter while Edward plays piano hunched under the dark of their coverings.

She listens to his newest pieces.

They leave the blankets up for days.

They have sex under them and laugh and have staring matches until it all starts over again.

On weekends they travel with Rose and Emmett to play miniature golf and later to try go-cart racing. Bella looks at Edward smiling, thinking he's enjoying being a kid again just as much as she is.

And it's there in line for another race in late spring, returning his childlike smile, that Bella notices a lightness. She hadn't really thought of this before, but it's been a long time since she's had a secret.

The one left, the one that only Edward knows, is one she rarely thinks about. Riley hasn't crossed her mind in months.

As she said she would, Bella's mother has been keeping in touch. Bella complains to her about an auction she's helping to organize. They have enough goods donated, but she needs more donations from businesses. More services offered and tours, dinners and mini-vacations. All by June.

"And I have to study for finals."

"I can help," her mother says.

They choose a date to meet for dinner in Forks where they make up a list of possible contributors. Bella realizes how that one list of Mrs. Cameron's will spawn into several, and several more. She doesn't mind. In fact, it excites her.

"This kind of work is never a waste of time," Bella tells her mother as they make their way into the only fancy restaurant in Forks in hopes of a dinner-for-two donation.

Bella feels useful. She feels important. And nobody is making her feel that way. It's just happening, meshing with her blood.


	46. Competion, Compensation, Composition

**A/N**: I know it's three days late. I'm sorry. It's the end. Ends are rough. They're almost as hard for me as titles and summaries. ;)

One more chapter after this one.

Word Prompt: _Competition, compensation, composition_

* * *

**Something True**

**Competion, Compensation, Composition**

* * *

Bella's lying flat on her stomach, arms tucked under the pillow, her head to the side. Edward's been tracing his fingers over her back for several minutes, each stroke deliberate.

"What are you drawing?" she asks, watching sunlight stream through the window and sprawl across furnishings, the piano, the wood floor.

His answer comes low and with more words than he's strung together at once all day. "Chord progression. In D minor."

"Hmm..." Bella lets his attention, his mind, his music, and the tickling of his fingers relax her.

This summer, like most, has flown by. Only this one has seemed faster than all the rest, probably because she wants it to slow down, or maybe because she's been keeping so busy.

Bella can't pinpoint the moment when her longing to get away from Forks morphed into anxiety. It's been gradual, a building awareness slithering under her skin, stretching, making her restless, making her itch. There, but transient. Now, with only one more day before she leaves, her nerves have materialized into something solid. She can probably reach out and touch it like a wall, like a cage.

She's leaving. She's free. And it feels like a cage.

...

The night of her graduation, Bella had scrubbed the tallies off the base of her wall. It took Ajax, a heavy-duty scrubbing sponge, and a lot of elbow grease to remove the last taint of the tallies and to get the wall white-clean again.

A week later, Edward went to the University of Washington's graduation ceremony, not for Angela, but for his other friends. He brought Rose with him. She wanted to be there for Emmett. Emmett whom she'd been seeing more and more. Emmett whom she had yet to call her boyfriend, but whose name she couldn't say without smiling.

Engulfed in duties for the auction, the tying up of loose ends, Bella was stuck in Forks.

Edward and Rose returned in time on Saturday to help serve the auction's spaghetti dinner. The Veterans' Hall was decorated in a rainforest theme, complete with a waterfall created of curtains and clear, running rope lights. Lit up palm trees dotted the room. Rows of tables were set out, some for dining, some to display silent auction items and bidding sheets. Grass-like fringe edged every table. Long-leafed exotic plants as centerpieces would be raffled off at the end.

With the help of Bella's girlfriends, her mother, and some men and women from the Senior Center, and after compensating for auction expenses, they raised $11,400. All of that going to improvements on the Hoh Rainforest's visitor center, and protecting and maintaining the trails.

Bella's dad brought in $2200 by offering a day with the Chief of Police.

Jessica bid on a basket of hair products that she lost to Lauren. Alice bid on a six week session of tennis lessons. She lost because she couldn't afford more than $25.00. It ended at $175.00. Jasper outbid her, which made her laugh and hit his shoulder until he said they were for her. As if it was ever a competition.

Then she kissed him.

At one of the display tables Bella recognized the girl she met during the fire when they had been evacuated to the middle school. The girl who lent Bella her book. She waved, but it seemed the girl didn't remember Bella.

Her blonde hair was longer and her face more mature. If she were to ask Bella again if she'd ever been in love, she could now say yes. But of course she wouldn't ask. She didn't even remember.

She was about to remind the girl when Bella's dad put his arm over her shoulders. "Marion would be proud."

Bella's mother on the other side of her told her_ she _was proud.

The line for dinner started and Bella and the rest of the servers slipped aprons over their heads. To keep things moving quickly, there were three rows of tables all serving the same thing: salad, spaghetti, garlic bread.

Jared and Kim were there, in Bella's spaghetti line. Holding hands. She waved to them. They lifted their free hands. Smiled.

As she piled pasta on their plates all she said was "Hi." She didn't know what else to say. "How are you doing?" "I miss your mother." "Has the house sold?" None of it seemed right.

As they moved along to Edward who was offering the garlic bread, Bella thought she could have at least thanked them for coming. Too late now, they were off to find their table.

Caught up in the whirlwind of the evening, Bella hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Edward, other than giving him orders. By the time they were able to sit down to eat, she was too afraid to ask him if he'd talked to Angela while in Seattle; she wasn't sure she wanted the answer. Sitting beside her, knee to knee, he told her anyway.

They didn't talk. Other than when she walked across the stage, he hadn't even seen Angela.

"She hasn't been calling either," he said, and Bella felt his breath on her cheek, his lips following.

Bella's family and friends, Edward, all stayed late to help clean up.

The auction's end lent Edward and Bella more time to spend with each other, though it was borrowed time and in the backs of their minds they both knew it.

On the hottest day in July, they stepped off the dock and into the aluminum fishing boat, Biter sitting on the floor between them. Edward anchored the boat near the island where they jumped into the cold water and pushed a raft topped with towels toward the island. Biter dog-paddled along beside them.

There were too many big rocks near the island to bring the boat all the way to shore.

Biter loved to swim and to fetch a stick from the water. He ran himself and Edward and Bella ragged. All of them landed heavy against the ground in front of a trio of fir trees. Lying on her back on top of her towel, Bella closed her eyes against the mostly blue sky, savoring this day of having nowhere else in the world to go. She felt the wind in her damp hair and eyelashes and the stinging rise of goosebumps all over her skin. She smelled the dry dirt behind her and the wet dirt in front of her.

The small grin on her face must have given Edward the hint she wasn't sleeping. She felt his lips, damp and soft, brush against hers, his hand on her side, light and then gripping. She felt his laugh through his nose and his smile on hers.

She brought her fingertips up to rest on his jaw as they kissed, as she bent her legs, and as Edward settled between them, swim trunks against bikini bottoms.

He warmed her body, slinking his hands up her side, tucking his finger under the strap of her bikini.

They made out until Edward pulled back with a chuckle that told Bella he had to stop. She knew by then it was either stop or go further, and though they were on the island, they were not secluded.

Across from them, not too far away, the distance Bella used to swim, there was a small beach flecked with visitors. And every now and then another fishing boat would trail by.

Beside each other, they fell asleep in the sun to the sound of the wind in the trees, the heavy breaths of a dog, and lapping water.

Later that day, through the mirror in Edward's bathroom, Bella noticed a tan line across her stomach from Edward resting his arm over her as they had slept.

When she showed it to him, he kissed a line across it and then started the shower and pulled her with him behind the curtain.

All summer, they were smiles and laughs, had dinner-dates, movie-dates, and sometimes parties at the cottage with only their closest friends.

Until today, when Edward went quiet. Last night he'd walked her home and with his fingers to her cheek, his breath against her lips, he said in a voice as quiet as the night, "You're not going to be ten minutes away anymore."

He hadn't said much else since then.

Not when she showed up at his door, not while he later started working on music with his headphones on. Anytime he spoke it was a short, one-word answer.

In his music studio, Bella opened the shutters and gazed out the window at the sun shining on the lake, glinting off the aluminum boat.

"I'm taking Biter out," she said.

Edward didn't ask, "Alone?" like he had in the past, or offer to go with her. He just nodded his head. She went to the kitchen for Biter's leash.

While she wished Edward had said something to her, or at least wanted to join her, the truth was, she didn't tell him that her reason for getting out wasn't for Biter, but for herself.

They traipsed through the once dead forest that was now being reborn. Small ferns had sprouted here and there, green like patchwork, or like the afghan she'd given her dad.

She led Biter all the way to the Lakeview Restaurant, now finished on the outside, but only the bar open on the inside as of yet. Apparently the kitchen and dining area needed more work.

Sporadically through summer, while Edward was busy composing, Bella had perched on a moss-covered rock near the restaurant and sketched it in its different stages of repair.

Without a drawing pad with her now, Bella picked up a stick and drew the outlines of the restaurant in the dirt as she wondered what was going on with Edward. Why were they spending her last day in Forks like this? Apart? Not talking? Hardly looking at each other?

By the time Bella returned to the cottage with a panting dog, she had worked herself up into frustration, fed up with Edward and his silence. She shoved the music room door open and yelled at him.

"You need to talk to me!"

Taking off his headphones, he turned to her. Seeing his face, meeting his eyes and the flatness that had come over them, she calmed down.

"I'm leaving," she said. "Tomorrow. And all you're doing is ignoring me."

He stood and shook his head, opening his mouth as if he was finally going to speak. He didn't.

"Edward. Please? Isn't this something you can work on after I'm gone?" She gestured to his keyboard.

He continued shaking his head, grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard. Backing her up out of the room and down the short hallway to his room, to his bed, he continued to kiss all over her mouth, her face, the hollow of her neck. His kisses were rough and pulling, the scruff on his face scratchy.

Panting, he undressed them both fast, and then they were tangled up in each other, their hands roaming, their lips landing anywhere, everywhere. The way his skin felt, under her hands, under her mouth, sliding against her body. In that moment, it was everything.

Whenever she opened her eyes, his were closed up tight, creased. She stopped opening hers.

...

Now as he's tracing the chord progression on her back, he pauses only to drop kisses to her bare shoulder. She tucks her legs back, tangling their feet together.

"Are you going to play it for me?" she asks.

"Later."

She turns around and he opens his arms to her. He's still here, very present, his gaze on her. She snuggles into his skin.

She tells him she's scared.

"Of what?"

"Being apart."

"Don't be."

She backs away just enough to see his face. No sign of a smile. "Aren't you?"

He shakes his head as if in slow motion, but his expression doesn't change. She's looking for something positive to cling to. She searches his eyes. He closes them, and hers start to fill.

"I've seen so much end." She places her hand on his chest, brushing with her fingers. The movement is partly driven by nerves, partly because she needs to touch him. "Maybe it sounds stupid or impossible, but I don't want us to end." She opens her palm and flattens it over his heart. "Not ever."

He squeezes her fingers and tears leak through the corners of his eyelids.

He envelops her back into his arms. On his chest she can feel him shudder. When she looks up at him, he's looking at her, and the tears roll down his cheeks.

She's cried over guys, over Pete, over Riley, over Edward, but she's never witnessed any guy cry for her. While it makes her feel loved to be cried over, it doesn't settle her fear; his tears worsen it.

She hugs him tight and he hugs her right back. Just as tight.

"Say something, Edward."

He sighs and when he speaks, his voice cracks. "We're not ending, Bella."

And tears streak her cheeks as well. She doesn't ask him if he's sure or how he knows. She doesn't remind him that he may have said the same thing to Angela once. He's probably thinking of all that anyway.

She sniffles. "Play the chord progression for me?"

"Okay," he whispers, and presses a firm kiss to her forehead. He wipes his eyes.

After pulling his boxers on he walks to the piano. Bella covers herself with the sheet and sits up, leaning against the headboard.

She listens to the beautiful high chords interspersed with low notes. Her new score, she decides.

She watches the way his fingers move over the keys, his arms, his shoulders, the tilt of his head.

"Thank you," she says when he finishes.

The thanks is for more than he knows. It's for playing for her when she asks, for composing for her when he can't talk to her, for reassuring her, for crying over her.

For loving her.

He stares at Bella with his red-rimmed eyes for so long she has to look away. But then he's next to her and kissing her and tugging her close and tangling his hands into her hair, and she gets it, his silence. This day was never a day for talking.

It's a day for simply being.


	47. Troublemaker

**A/N:** This is not the last chapter because I'm a big liar. There will be one more short, closing chapter after this. It just felt right to split them up. (More at the bottom)

Audio-Visual Challenge—Musical Mastery:_ "Troublemaker" by Olly Murs featuring Flo Rida_

* * *

**Something True**

**Troublemaker**

* * *

Through the day she tries not to think of Edward as she walks to class. She tries not to think of him as she sits in class drawing paper bags—far away, up close, the crinkles, the shadows. She tries not to think of him as she heads home and when she studies.

He's with her anyway, in her mind, everywhere she goes. His smile, his laugh, his eyes, his arms, his kiss, his fingertips. His last "I love you."

But late at night, lying in bed, as she _tries_ to think of him, all she can think about is his absence. Especially on the nights Rose spends with Emmett.

Bella and Edward talk on the phone daily. He tells her that Biter is full-grown now, but is still filling out.

She plays with her sheet, weaving it between her fingers, missing both of them, Edward and Biter. She usually doesn't cry, but in the few moments when she just can't help it she doesn't let Edward know.

Maybe he knows anyway. It's then, as her tears spill and she suppresses her sniffle, that silence lands as heavy as bricks between them.

Sometimes he'll break through with, "Bella?" And she'll mask herself with a smile and spit out an unbroken, "Yeah," or "I'm still here."

Days go by and it gets easier, being apart. Until he visits or she visits and the whole cycle starts over again.

This is a new side of love. Love isn't gone, or false; it's with her, only... not.

...

Here in Seattle, even on clear nights, Bella can't see the moon or the stars outside the window. She stares out at darkness as she sits in the rocking chair, listening to its rhythmic creak. The chair is too big for this new room, but she figures she doesn't really need the space between the end of her bed and the closet.

The chair was the first thing to be packed into the rental truck, and the last thing to come out, carried by Bella's mother and dad.

When Bella arrived with her dad, her mother was already there, waiting next to a tree encased in red brick and surrounded by flowers at the building's entrance.

Bella noticed how much brighter her mother appeared, healthier, though aged. Shiny, straightened hair with new highlights. Makeup.

Her smile, big and eye-crinkly, just before she hugged Bella goodbye in the hallway, told the story of contentment, and of being proud. Her embrace was the kind that squeezed around shoulders and held on for longer than a few heartbeats.

Then Bella had turned to her dad who, tearing up, kissed her head and told her to have fun and be good.

She watched him walk down the hall wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Bella wiped hers, too.

Her parents had pooled their money together and bought Bella a sedan. Her mother had driven it to the school to surprise her, which meant that her dad had to drive her mother home.

"That thing is so noisy," Rose says, turning from where she's been bent over a book at her desk under one of the two windows.

"Sorry." Bella stops rocking.

"I kind of like it." Rose gets up and moves to Bella, sitting on her lap and linking their fingers.

Bella drops her forehead to her friend's shoulder.

Edward had come with his parents to help move Rose in the day after Bella arrived. Rose had to wait until her mom could take a day off work. Edward and Bella stayed behind while Rose and her parents went to dinner together.

"I want to show you something," he said when he could tear his lips and limbs away from Bella.

He went to one of Rose's boxes and pulled out a framed picture. It was a vintage black-and-white. An elderly couple, their backs to the camera, long coats draped over their bodies, the man in a hat and the woman's gray hair in a bun. They were walking along a tree-bordered path. The woman's arm was linked through the man's, her head resting on his shoulder.

Bella took the picture from Edward for a closer look. "It's beautiful."

"My grandparents." He sat beside her on the bed. "Their marriage didn't end."

She looked up at him.

"We're not going to end," he said for the second time. "Believe it." With a hand on the small of her back he drew her close.

Edward set the frame aside and laid Bella down, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his head on her stomach. She slid her fingers through his hair.

Minutes ticked by filled with nothing but their breathing and their mingling thoughts.

"Maybe they were like this once," Bella said. "Your grandparents."

"I'd bet money on it."

Bella later set the picture in the center of the shared wall-ledge above the record player stand. On one side was a photo of Rose and Emmett, and on the other side, a photo of Edward and Bella.

...

Getting up from the rocking chair, Bella is drawn to the picture of the grandparents on the shelf. Rose follows her.

She mistakes the aim of Bella's gaze.

"I've never seen my brother look at anyone the way he looks at you."

"Really?"

"Not anyone."

Bella looks down with a small smile.

"I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at him, either."

"Not even you?" Bella blinks moony-eyes at Rose.

"You better not look at him that way. That look is just for me."

Bella places her hands on Rose's shoulders, guides her back to her desk and makes her sit down.

"Study," she says. "I'll creak for you."

Picking up her art history book Bella moves back to the rocking chair.

...

Bella devotes one afternoon a week to teaching knitting around a long, low table in the craft room at the local children's hospital. The chairs are so small. The youngest kids, the four and five and six year olds, learn finger knitting. They all love it, their accomplishments, their beautiful, imperfect creations. Even the boys.

"It's a bracelet," one girl says, holding it to her wrist

"It's for my mom," a boy says, and Bella looks into his big, round, brown eyes. The boy doesn't have any hair and he's skinny, but his face is bright.

"She's going to love it," Bella says. "She'll keep it forever and ever."

Another girl, a nine year old, pats Bella's shoulder. She hands her a square pot holder. "For you," she says, eyes downcast.

"Are you sure?" Bella asks, taking it in her fingers.

"Uh-huh."

"It's so pretty." She hugs the girl. This, teaching kids to knit, is the one thing on Mrs. Cameron's list that Bella won't be crossing off.

Visits with Edward have become fewer and farther between. Bella is hosting part time at a restaurant, only getting one to two weekends off a month. And if neither can stay with the other from Friday through Sunday, Edward and Bella decide not to visit at all. It's too hard: the long drive, the short visit, the long drive back, Bella studying in between, dividing her time between Edward and her dad, and sometimes her mother. The tiredness. It would lead to arguments, and neither wanted to spend their short time together like that.

This last visit, they made up before Bella left, but on her drive back to school, tears blurred her vision. She wanted to be with Edward, making things stronger, not leaving while things were still shaky between them.

She called him, one hand on the steering wheel. Her headlights lit up a band of the road in front of her while everything else was black.

"Why did we fight?" she asked. "I hate that."

"Me too."

"What was it about?"

"I don't know."

But Bella did know. When things are less than perfect between them, she guards herself, bracing for something bad, afraid and expecting that this is it, things are ending. This time Edward got frustrated. "Stop being so insecure," he said. "Stop doubting me. You act like our relationship ending is inevitable."

She knows it's true. Her insecurity in their relationship is toxic, but it still pissed her off to hear it from him.

She'd gone to her dad's, and when she came back, Edward tugged her inside by her wrists and apologized. She'd grabbed his shirt sleeve, and let her hand sweep down to his forearm where she held on.

In the car, though, she thought she should've apologized, too. So she did just then, over the phone.

"I'm sorry."

They'd wasted their time together and it would be three weeks before they'd see each other again.

"I wish we had one more day," he said.

Bella wished the same, though it still wouldn't have been enough. There would then be the wish for another day, and another.

After a pause, Edward asked, "What are you wearing?"

Through her tears, she laughed.

...

It's a Wednesday in late October, after one in the morning, when there's a knock on the door.

She checks the peephole to find Edward. Without bothering to put on pants, she opens the door in just her nightshirt.

Edward looks rough—exactly like someone who has just driven over a hundred miles in the middle of the night. His eyes are bloodshot, his beard furrier than she's ever seen it. His tight eyebrows seem to relax when he looks at her.

"What are you-"

Edward's inside with the door closed before Bella can finish her thought.

He meets her lips with his. He tastes like liquor. She pulls back.

"You've been drinking?"

He shakes his head. "Just one of those airplane size bottles. Outside your door. I brought it with me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a coward. I have something to say to you. To ask you." He holds her face in between his palms, their noses inches apart. "Remember when I said I was one thing?" .

She nods. "A composer."

"I was wrong. You've spun me, Bella," he says, his lips brushing hers. "Like nothing else. I can't fucking think about anything but you." He kisses her. "I'm ridiculous without you. Ask Biter."

She laughs quietly. "Edward... " Bella pushes against his chest and backs up. "I miss you, too, but how long are you staying? When are you leaving? And then what?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not leaving."

"What?"

"I'm not living three hours away from you for four goddamn _years_."

She might be inhaling and exhaling, but she might not. Her feet might be planted firmly on the ground, or she might not be touching it at all. "But you love it there. Your music."

"I also love it in Hawaii. I don't live there, do I?"

A hand to her head, she looks down.

"Will you help me find an apartment here?" He lifts her face and brushes his thumb along her cheekbone. "And help me live in it?"

Bella stares into his eyes; she's definitely not breathing now. He means it. He says she's spun him? Her head is spinning.

"If you want - or when you're ready, would you..." He glances away, swipes a hand through his hair. His gaze is back on her, looking nervous. Torn. "Would you live with me? Bella?"

Her voice is stuck in her throat. She takes his fingers in both of her hands for touch, for assurance, for balance.

Clasping her hands, Edward brings them up around his neck. He slides his fingertips down her arms, down her sides, her waist, to her hips, and pulls her closer. He runs his lips across her forehead. "What's in here? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking-" she rakes her nails through the back of his hair "-yes."

His smile goes wide and her pulse picks up tempo. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Letting out a deep breath, he drops his head to her shoulder like he's overwhelmed or relieved and she holds him there, caressing his hairline.

"I can't say no to that," she says. "To you. I don't want to."

With his face still buried in her shoulder and her hair, he wraps his arms all the way around her. She feels dampness spread over the top of her sleeve. She lifts his face. He's misty-eyed. He digs a thumb and index finger into his eyelids. "Look what you do to me, Bella."

"Edward." She opens one palm over his cheek. "If you only knew."

"Knew what?" He tilts his face into her palm, kind of rubbing against her hand.

How loved he makes her feel.

She lets her hands fall to his shoulders, and down to his chest. On tiptoe she kisses him and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

She's on the last button, their lips moving together in continuous kisses until he drags his lips over her face.

"Where's Rosalie?" He asks against her cheek, sliding his kiss down to her neck, the breath of his nose warming and tickling her skin.

"Emmett's."

And then her shirt's off and they're on their sides on the small bed, Bella running her hand along his firm, lean bicep, trailing her lips after.

She's in nothing but panties, her mouth to his stomach as she fumbles with the button of his jeans, the zipper. She slides her mouth lower, pushing his pants and boxers away.

"Bella," he says, his hands in her hair.

They're both naked now and on her knees over him, she looks down into his eyes feeling all the love and want that must be written on her face, in her gaze, her parted lips.

Reaching up, he traces her lower lip with his thumb. He pulls. "I've thought about you like this for weeks."

From his wallet she takes a condom and rolls it on him.

She crawls on top of him and they move together in a new but familiar rhythm.

"Damn, you're beautiful," he says, both of his hands at her neck, slipping down to her breasts, and then to her waist. He slows her down, stops her. "Wait." His eyes are shut.

"It's okay." She keeps going. She doesn't need long. She knows this already. "Trust me."

And he does, letting Bella move however she wants. She watches his jaw tense up, his eyes, his eyebrows. He groans, still trying to control himself. Until he no longer can. Until he's letting go.

Bella follows.

He pulls her body against his, their sweaty stomachs and chests flush. "Think of this," he says out of breath and voice, "every day."

She slides down to rest her head over his heart as their breathing calms. She kisses his chest. "You're so horny."

He laughs. "Not just that." He folds her in his arms and presses himself closer to her. "_This._"

"My everyday Edward," she says into his neck, the thought in the back of her mind that what she was once sure didn't exist, is now something she's calling true and everyday.

It's future, and she can see it. She can believe it.

She kisses his furry jaw. He rubs the opposite side. "I should've shaved first."

"I like it."

"You do?"

She nods. "I like you."

"_Like?_"

"_Love_." She smiles.

* * *

**A/N**: Thank you for being wonderful.

I'm going to talk a little bit here instead of at the end of the final chapter because sometimes I like my stories to end quietly, without my "author" voice getting in the way.

So, the witfit. I loved this experience. It was a challenge and kept me writing daily. If anyone is on the fence about it, I'd say, give it a try.

All of you, your reviews, your encouragement kept me going when I didn't think I had it in me. And Thimbles was there to preread for me when I was at my most insecure, so thank you, girl!

Now, I'm pretty sure this is going to be my last individual multi-chapter story. I won't say I'll never write a multi-fic again, but it's my intention to make this my last.

I do have some collaborations coming in the near-future. I'll be working on an E/B story with IReen H. I'm not sure when it will post, but we've talked and are definitely going through with it. Yay!

If you're interested in checking that out, we have a profile page under the penname **BelieveItOrIReen**. fanfiction dot net/ u/4749958/BelieveItOrIReen

Add us to alerts if you'd like a notification when we post the first chapter.

Thank you again for sticking through this with me!


	48. Sidewalk

**A/N: **Thank you. I don't know how I get some of the best readers in the fandom, but I do, and I'm grateful to all of you.

**Word Prompts**: Sidewalk, sidestep, sideways

* * *

**Something True**

**Sidewalk**

* * *

Edward did go back to Forks. To pack his belongings and to get Biter.

He moved in to a sixth floor apartment of an eight-floor, dog-friendly building. Alone.

After they'd made love and laughed and slept that night Edward showed up out of the blue with his question, when the fog of excitement started to clear as the sun shone bright through the two windows, they had to think realistically.

Realistically, they had to think of Rose, and Bella had to tell her dad about her plans.

Bella had decided not to move in with Edward until the end of the semester.

Rose, instead of being assigned some random roommate, had the time to arrange for a friend of hers to move in with her. Another plant science major.

Rose said she was happy for Bella and Edward, calling Bella her sister.

Still, when it was time for Bella to go, Rose hugged her long and rocking and teary-eyed.

The apartment Bella and Edward chose has dark honey wood floors, a brick wall on one side, and all the other walls white. Whenever they're home together, Bella's small shoes can be found next to Edward's big ones on the floor by the edge of their sofa.

Across from the sofa, on the brick wall, is the rocking chair and the red piano with the framed print of Thelonious Monk above it. To the left is the open kitchen. To the right, the rooms: Edward and Bella's, and the one Edward turned into a music studio. There isn't a hallway.

She's lying on her back on the bed, her head by Edward's feet and her feet by his shoulder. His arm is between her knees. his hand gripping her thigh as he reads, as she studies. His fingers brush back and forth on her skin and she looks up reminding herself where she is. She's here. At home.

They have a favorite view and a favorite market and a favorite coffee shop that serves their favorite crepes. There are better views and markets and coffee shops with better crepes, but those are not _theirs_.

Their market is three blocks away. Their coffee shop is five buildings away. And their view is right off their balcony off their kitchen, beyond the deep sienna curtains Bella had picked out, the color of a sunset. Below is a tree-filled, plant-filled courtyard, another apartment building across. If she stands in the corner of the balcony on her toes, she can see the edge of blue or gray water, its color dependent on the sky.

They also have a favorite music store. The one where Edward works again, teaching lessons in the back—piano and guitar—in between composing jobs.

When they walk Biter, it's no longer through the woods or along the lake. The trees have been replaced by buildings and strangers, the dirt by sidewalk and the lake by the Puget Sound—and instead of a walk away, the closest body of water is a car ride away.

But the walks themselves are very similar. Biter wanting to be slightly in front, but not pulling the slack all the way out of the leash. The backs of their hands brush against each other, and then they're holding hands, and then Bella's hugging Edward's arm, her head resting against his bicep. And above them today, the sun is shining in winter.

The first time Bella's dad came to visit it was awkward. He wasn't happy with his daughter, nineteen, living with her boyfriend. Only one bed in the apartment.

Bella had gone to a lot of trouble to cook for her dad, and there he was making her feel like she was playing house.

"I'm an adult," she said at the dinner table over the stir fry she'd cooked, and it sounded like the most childish thing she'd said since she moved out of the house.

"Barely. You're still young."

Bella glanced across the table at Edward. His eyes were rounded, not surprised, not shocked, but also not projecting the confidence she hoped to see. And that was all right because if she was trying to prove she can depend on herself, she should probably do just that, depend on herself.

"Dad," she said, her young eyes staring into his not-so-young eyes. It had taken her a long time to get there, to trust herself, if that's what she was doing. Maybe she wasn't, not one hundred percent, because she felt the fear that shook her voice. "Please don't try to make me doubt my choices."

His face softened and he tilted his head at her. "I think trying to keep a daughter from growing up is a father's job." He placed his hand over the back of her fist on the table. Her hand may have been in his, but her life wasn't. "If this is what you want..." He sighed, a sort of reluctant acceptance.

"It's what I want."

After the kitchen was clean and her dad had left for his hotel, Bella stood looking at her three framed drawings hanging above the sofa. One was of the lake, the dock, the fishing boat, another was of the island as seen from across the shore, and the third was the one of the rock and the few trees surrounding it. They were Edward and Bella's old places now hanging in their new place.

She felt Edward's hands capturing her hair, twisting it at the base of her neck and then letting it go as he kissed a path to her shoulder, curving one arm around her middle. He held her close against him.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Yes," he said without questioning what she meant. He turned her around to face him. "I've never lived with a girlfriend before because I've never wanted to. I'm sure."

She stopped herself from asking him "What if?" What if it doesn't work out? She knew the answer. If it didn't work out, at least they had this beautiful time together.

And he was sure. So what was there to be so afraid of? What comes after today? Tomorrow. And then another tomorrow. And if tomorrow she still wants the same thing she wants today there's nothing to be afraid of.

"It's you and me, Bella." He led her to their small bathroom. Just a narrow cabinet and sink, a toilet, a bathtub shower.

She likes the way the whole tiny room smells like toothpaste for hours after they brush their teeth.

Many tomorrows have passed since then, a month of tomorrows, and she still wants to be exactly where she is.

She loves sleeping all night with Edward and waking up with him in the morning. She also loves waking up in the middle of the night, at times unsure of where she is. Sometimes she's back in her childhood bed in Forks. Sometimes she's back in the dorm. But she's only disoriented until she feels Edward next to her, lying on his stomach. She climbs over him and stretches out flat along the back of him. He reaches around and grabs at her calf before he turns her over, inching himself between her legs, kissing her.

Laughing, she kisses him back. Later, before the sun comes up, they whisper to each other as if anyone else is around to hear them.

They're living together in the present and making plans together for the future. In the summer, a trip: California or Mexico or Canada, they're trying to decide. And it's all in whispers, like secrets, even though they're not.

...

It's another sunny day, the second in a row, and this won't last long, not in February.

Bella's at the kitchen table studying, drinking flat coke over ice when Edward comes home from his last lesson of the day, his tie hanging loose.

Biter's paws tap against the wood as he runs, tail whipping, to Edward. He pets the dog and leans down to kiss Bella.

"Hi," he says.

At the corner of the sofa, he toes off his shoes, leaving them next to Bella's. And then he's at the piano playing something new.

"What's that for?" she asks, wondering if he has a new project. She recognizes her chord progression in the mix.

"My muse."

She listens closer. It isn't somber. It isn't exactly perky, but it definitely is not depressing, nothing about it. She closes her eyes. And even though she can't see Edward, and with most of the apartment separating them, she's never felt closer to anyone else. She never wants to feel this close to anyone else.

She learned once how something outside of her can make every part inside of her hurt. And now she knows that it's also possible to have nothing hurt at all. How a person can feel good, tingly, without being physically touched.

She walks over to Edward and puts her arms around his neck, crossing her wrists over his heart, kissing the back of his neck and behind his ear.

His fingers slow over the keys but don't falter.

"When did you compose this?"

"Still composing it. Work in progress."

Biter joins them.

With Bella hanging over Edward's back and Biter's chin resting on the piano bench, Edward continues to play. Bella is overcome by an emotion that makes her smile for no reason she can point to.

In the next second the music has stopped and Edward is pulling her around onto his lap, and bending her backwards over the bench, leaning over her until she screeches and Biter barks. Edward and Bella laugh, their lips touching.

And it's moments like this: when the winter sun is stronger through the window than it should be, as your boyfriend is holding you backwards in a position you can't get out of without landing on your head, and he's kissing you while laughing, and the dog is barking, and the piano is still resonating the last key of your own song because his foot is clamped down on the pedal, and it doesn't matter if you're a kid or an adult or something in between; it's moments like this—carefree—when for just a second or two it seems everything in your life that got you to this place right here, right now, in your bare feet, with your empty little shoes next to the empty big shoes by the shared sofa in the shared apartment in the shared life, was worth it.


End file.
